


Is It True That You Like To Sleep Alone (or is it what you just tell everyone)

by LadySlytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, M/M, Mpreg, Questionable Paternity, Rimming, brief scene involving homophobia, soap opera in disguise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: In the wake of the war, Draco has worked hard to scrub the taint from his name. He is society's darling and he relishes the rewards that come with it. Not ready to settle down - and with no intention ofevermarrying one of the young witches his parents keep trying to force on him - Draco is enjoying the freedom to sleep with whomever he wants, whenever he wants.When Draco finds out he's pregnant, and that the father could be one of three different men, he has to figure out what comes next. It could be a fairy tale come to life...or it could be the biggest scandal in the history of the Wizarding World. It's all in how Draco manages to spin it...





	Is It True That You Like To Sleep Alone (or is it what you just tell everyone)

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest thank you _ever_ goes out to A, who beta'd the whole damned piece for me, despite the nonsense going on with it and in her own life. And a thank you to K, W, and L for taking the time to look over what they could of it, in between the day-to-day stuff in their own lives. I appreciate it bunches, seriously.
> 
> And an extra-special thank you to mod!Kitty, who granted me an extension when RL got the better of me and this piece suffered for it. So it's about 8 days late, but it's done and it's long and it's gorgeous and I hope everyone loves it because holy hell did it take _a lot_ out of me.
> 
> I've taken some mild liberties with the prompt for this piece, but I'm hoping the prompter likes what I've chosen to do with it. And I hope the rest of you like it as well!

Draco leaned against the bar, head thrown back as he laughed. He _lived_ for moments like this; moments when he felt alive again. He sipped leisurely at his cocktail - he didn’t even know what it was, as it had been purchased for him by the man now stepping into his space. He had wind-tousled brown hair - though really, _brown_ was hardly a fair description, Draco had to admit, as it was more _chestnut_ \- that looked just long enough for Draco to sink his fingers into and _pull._ His hazel eyes were warm, more golden than green, and his smile was charming. Not _smarmy,_ but not wholly _nice_ either. It was a fine line to walk, and Draco was intrigued.

He was also trying to place the man, who he knew was a Chaser for the Kenmare Kestrels - as he’d finished watching a game between the Kestrels and the Magpies before coming to the bar, and the man was still wearing his uniform - but whose name he couldn't quite recall. “So...” Draco purred, taking another sip of his drink and shifting forward enough to whisper in the taller man’s ear. “Planning to stay out all night, celebrating?”

The man laughed. “Mmmmm, that depends on if I have any other offers.” A strong hand settled lightly on the small of Draco’s back, gentle pressure that had Draco swaying a little closer to him as a result. “What about you? Are you here to... _celebrate?”_

Draco shivered a little, then drew back enough to smirk at the man. “Oh no, I’m drowning my sorrows. I was rooting for Montrose.”

The man laughed again, clearly delighted by Draco’s teasing. “You always were too much, Malfoy. Even as a child you were full of snark.”

“Do you remember me as a child?” Draco asked, raising one eyebrow curiously. They had to have been at Hogwarts together, though Draco was certain not in the same year...or the same _House._

“I always remember those I played against. Particularly when they’re as skilled of a flyer as you were.” He smoothed his hands over the Kenmare-green robes covering his chest and admitted. “I’ll admit, green has never been my best color. I miss being in blue sometimes.”

With the knowledge that he was facing a former-Ravenclaw, Draco’s mind conjured up an image of the man from their school days. Davies. Something with an R... _Robert Davies?_ No, that seemed wrong. Draco remembered he’d taken the Beauxbatons’ champion to the Yule Ball - the girl who’d later married the eldest Weasley - but he couldn't quite get the name to come to him.

Working around it for the moment, he rested a hand on Davies’ chest and said huskily. “What do you say we take this conversation someplace a bit quieter, Davies? Somewhere we can really... _catch up.”_

“Call me Roger.” And, well, that neatly solved the problem of not remembering the man’s first name, anyway. He stepped back, but caught Draco’s hand in his own and gave a light tug. “Come on, then. My place work for you or do you prefer yours?”

Draco’s lips curved into a devious smile as he downed the last of his drink and set the empty glass on the bar behind him. “Your place sounds _perfect.”_ He purred, letting himself get pulled towards the exit. It was easier to sneak out of someone’s bed before dawn than to kick someone out of his own before breakfast, after all.

They stepped out into lightly misting rain, and Draco found himself pressed up against the brick wall next to the bar’s entrance, having the breath kissed out of him. He sank into it readily enough, molding himself against the strong, hot body in front of him. As the kiss broke, Draco felt the pressure and _pop_ that always accompanied Apparation and drew back a bit to look around at Davies’ place. Before he could register much beyond _not bad, if a bit messy,_ he was being kissed again, guiding hands on his waist urging him towards what he assumed was the bedroom.

Draco let himself be guided, fairly eager to have those big, calloused hands on his skin.

Clothing was lost along the way, pushed and pulled and shed like a breadcrumb trail from the living room they’d appeared in to the bed Draco was pushed onto minutes later. He bounced twice before settling, already nude and eagerly spreading his legs. Davies followed him down eagerly, and Draco let himself get swept up in the feelings. In being wanted. In being _desired._ In the way it felt to have someone pinning him to a mattress, eager to put their hands and mouth on him; eager to fuck their way inside his pliant body.

The first couple of years after the war, Draco had been a social pariah. An outcast. Someone unemployable; unmarriageable; _untouchable._ He had worked hard to change that. He had plied the right people with money, with charm, with whatever he could. He had worked on the restoration of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. He had been one of the handful of students from his year who had elected to finish his schooling and sit for his NEWTs. He had attended every charity event he could. He had made a big show of supporting things like _integration of muggle culture into the Wizarding World_ and _house elf reformation laws_ because those were the things needed to help scrub his name clean.

Draco had done everything in his power to erase the taint the Second Wizarding War had left on his family; the taint it had left on _him._ And now that the war was a solid five years behind them, he could proudly say that he had done a damned fine job of it. He was praised and lauded as _a new breed of pureblood._ When he walked into the Ministry, higher-ups rushed to curry favor. When he shopped in Diagon Alley, shopkeepers offered him the best prices and extended huge lines of credit. And when he went out in public, people threw themselves at his feet, more than eager to find out what _Draco Malfoy_ was like in bed.

And Draco savored all of it. Savored knowing _he_ had fixed his father’s mistakes, and reclaimed his rightful place in society. He _lived_ for the moments that reminded him of how far he had come; the moments that highlighted just how much darkness could be erased from people’s memories if you just tried hard enough.

As though to reinforce that fact, Davies’ mouth skimmed the inside of Draco’s left forearm. The skin there was nearly smooth; _nearly_ perfect. Draco had done everything possible - had used both magical and muggle means - to reduce the effects of the Dark Mark’s scarring. And most people didn’t seem to notice it at all, though a few had reacted the way Davies was. They seemed to find the reminder of what Draco had once been - however reluctantly or forced it was - to be somehow _arousing._ But then, Draco had certainly learned that there was little the world liked better than a _reformed_ bad boy.

And yet, Draco didn’t like when people touched the remnants of the Mark, faint as they were. So he fisted a hand in Davies’ hair and dragged him up into a filthy kiss. As their mouths separated, Draco purred. “Come on then, Roger. _Fuck me.”_

Thankfully, that was all it took to get things back on the right track. Davies pulled out a bottle of lube from a drawer, Draco shifted onto his hands and knees, and his night got _much_ better. Davies wasn’t the most inventive lover, nor was he the best, but Draco had certainly had worse. The former-Ravenclaw was considerate enough and ensured Draco finished as well, which was nice. He even let Draco wash up first when they were finished, which gave Draco the perfect opportunity to slip out while Davies was cleaning up after.

He jotted a quick note on a scrap of parchment, leaving it on the pillow for Davies to find. It was short, succinct, and made it perfectly clear that Draco had no interest in a repeat performance. But then, he rarely did.

_Thank you for a delightful end to a lovely day. Congratulations on your most recent win. Best Wishes. ~ DM_

~*~*~*~

Draco had always been a Quidditch fan. Moreso than most people had realized, even. He’d grown up attending games with his father whenever possible, though his mother had little patience for the sport and rarely went with them. He had joined his House team because the idea of _not_ had simply been unacceptable to him. And now that he was once again able to enjoy being in public spaces, Draco spent a fair amount of his time at various matches. In fact, he’d spent much of the last two years at matches. There was no reason _not_ to, after all. He loved Quidditch and it was a perfect opportunity to rub elbows with some of the Wizarding World’s elite. Various higher-ups from the Ministry, as well as from the upper echelons of wizarding society, frequented the VIP boxes at games. So Draco went, and watched the matches, and networked with all of the right people. It was an enjoyable time all around.

So it would have surprised very few people - if anyone - to see that a week or so after his fateful meet-up with a certain Kenmare Kestrel’s player, Draco was once again at a random pub full of celebrating Quidditch fans, following a match. This time, it had been the Holyhead Harpies against the Montrose Magpies, and the Harpies had won. It wasn’t a surprise, really, that the Magpies had lost _again;_ they were having a rather poor season. But Draco was quite friendly with the team’s owner, and he was offered tickets more often than not, so he found himself at a lot of their matches. Thankfully, Draco had no fan-ish loyalty to any team in particular, so he had no trouble celebrating with the fans of whichever team happened to win.

The Harpies fans, in particular - and indeed, the Harpies themselves - were known for being a rather boisterous lot in the face of a win, so Draco had expected he’d have little trouble finding companionship for the evening.

What he _hadn’t_ expected was to find himself pushed against a wall in the filthy alley beside the pub, having the breath stolen from his lungs by a wildly passionate - and perhaps _rather drunk_ \- Harry Potter.

 _Not_ that Draco was complaining, mind you.

He had long thought Potter was delightfully adorable, with his messy hair and kittenish green eyes and the way he wore cozy jumpers with muggle trousers any time he was out of his Auror robes. Even at fancy Ministry functions, the Golden Boy - _man_ now, Draco supposed - was just as likely to wear some soft knit jumper and denims as he was to wear proper dress robes. There had been no renewal of their antagonism in the wake of the war; in the wake of Potter testifying for Draco and his mother during _The Trials._ They had been polite, though not precisely friendly, whenever their paths had crossed. This...this was _far more_ than friendly, and Draco was finding it even more enjoyable than he’d have imagined it would be.

“Fuck, Potter...” Draco gasped as the Savior’s wicked mouth moved to his throat, pressing sucking kisses there. “I don’t think this is the _place_ for this sort of thing.”

Potter huffed a laugh against his throat, before drawing back enough to make eye contact. “Well then, cliche as it is...your place or mine?”

Draco didn’t hesitate; he never did. _Easier to leave than to risk them trying to overstay their welcome._ “Yours, if you don’t mind.”

“Not in the least.” Potter murmured, leaning in to scrape his teeth along the sharp line of Draco’s jaw.

A few seconds later - and with rather less _compression_ and _discomfort_ than usually came along with an Apparation, especially a side-along one - Draco found himself standing in a bedroom. Which... _well._ It wasn’t that he hadn’t assumed they’d wind up in a bedroom. It was only that he’d never been Apparated directly _into_ a bedroom. It spoke of an eagerness - _an impatience_ \- that he’d never encountered before, despite his slow but steady rise in status, culminating in him being back at the top of the social food chain. Potter didn’t seem to notice that he’d done something odd, though.

His hands were busy tugging at Draco’s clothes, and his mouth was busy devouring every bit of Draco’s skin that he could get to. And Draco, for his part, decided it didn’t matter overmuch, anyway. Perhaps Potter _always_ jumped straight to the bedroom - he was an auror, after all, and perhaps he liked changing immediately after work. Or perhaps he only went right to his room when he was pulling; who could say? It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the way Draco was being dragged down on top of Potter’s well-muscled but still lean frame as the dark-haired man fell back onto the large canopy bed. Draco landed with a soft _oof,_ and blinked down at Potter in surprise. He wasn’t used to the position; to being on top. Which wasn’t to say that Draco _never_ topped, because he certainly did. Just...not _often._ He rather prefered things the other way around; prefered feeling someone moving inside of him. It felt like possessing them for a short time; like _owning_ them. Like he was making them a _part_ of him, in a primal way. It felt like _power_ and _control_ and _dominance,_ even if most people ignorantly assumed it was a subservient or submissive act to bottom.

But he could work with the position, he decided. He immediately straddled Potter’s hips, grinding himself down against the fairly impressive length of Potter’s arousal. “Want me to ride you?” He purred the words, hoping they made it clear what he wanted here; what he _needed._

“Oh shit...” Potter’s hands clenched tight on his hips, no doubt bruising his fair skin, and Draco let out a pleased little moan at the feeling. “Fuck, Malfoy, I don’t care. Fuck me, ride me, whatever you want...”

A smirk curved Draco’s lips at those words, because oh yes, _that_ was what he craved. Complete surrender from his partners. From people who had once looked down their noses at him, especially.

Foregoing some of the niceties - it was _Potter,_ after all - Draco murmured a couple of quick spells before greedily sinking down on Potter’s cock. It was everything he’d wanted it to be; everything he’d _hoped_ it would be, for longer than he’d care to admit. But he couldn't focus on that for long, too caught up in the burning ache in his thighs as he pushed himself to move faster; to move _harder._ Potter’s hands skimmed over every bit of his skin they could reach, pushing him higher as he ruthlessly used the Chosen One’s body to sate himself; to fulfill his needs; to reach the glittering crest of pleasure that was _so close..._

Afterwards, when they’d both collapsed into a sweaty, sticky, panting pile of bliss, Potter murmured a spell Draco wasn’t familiar with. It cleaned them both, with none of the steel-wool-on-skin feeling that came from a _Scourgify_ cast on the body. Draco wondered absently if Potter would teach him the spell; it seemed terribly handy. Then Potter was curling an arm around Draco’s waist, murmuring sleepily in the blonde’s ear. Something...something about _breakfast_ in the morning, or...

Draco didn’t quite catch it all, but it was enough to have him shaking off the sleepy haze clouding his mind. He waited, still and silent, until he was _certain_ Potter was deeply asleep. Then, he slipped from the bed and gathered his things as quietly as he could. It was short work to have himself dressed, everything collected from where it had been strewn about in earlier passion. With a cautious look at the still-sleeping former-Gryffindor, Draco crossed the room to Potter’s messy desk. He found a quill, and a parchment, and scrawled a message for the other man. When he finished, he set it on the nightstand, under Potter’s glasses. The brunette would find it in the morning.

Then, with a quick turn on his heel and a quiet _pop,_ Draco was gone, leaving behind only a few sentences in his elegant, looping handwriting.

_Thank you for a fun night, both at the pub and afterwards. I imagine I’ll see you around, as per the norm. I expect we can keep things civil. ~ DM_

And that, Draco imagined, would be that.

~*~*~*~

Draco pasted a friendly smile on his lips as he was approached by yet _another_ empty-headed socialite. If his mother didn’t stop trying to set him up with some insipid little pureblood witch, he was going to _scream._ Hell, half of these girls - and yes, most of them were _girls_ as opposed to _women his own bloody age,_ even - weren’t even actually purebloods. In light of recent events, Narcissa had opted to include a large number of _eligible halfbloods_ as well, and Draco didn’t even know what to do with that. Nevermind that the _Prophet_ ran countless stories - in the society pages, and the gossip columns - about Draco’s myriad of _male_ conquests. His mother wished for grandchildren, and pushing for Draco to marry was part of her infernal scheming to ensure that happened.

Draco had no intention of giving in to her - no intention of saddling himself with a wife who would no doubt come to resent him when he refused to stop fucking men whenever he pleased - so events like this were tiresome at best and infuriating at worst. Just then, Draco was leaning towards _fury._ It wasn’t that he had anything against balls. It was just that he despised being made to feel like a slab of meat up for sale, with eager Mamas foisting their daughters on him like desperate harpies.

It made him feel sick.

He shook off the latest little twit - a pretty enough thing, if frightfully dim and disturbingly young - and slipped out onto the terrace before anyone could spot him and put a stop to his escape. He hurried down the stone steps, disappearing into the gardens as quickly as he could. He’d be found eventually - his mother would sic the elves on him to suss him out, he had no doubt about that - but a few minutes of cool, crisp air would hopefully do him a small measure of good. The early autumn chill had his breath misting in front of him like little clouds, but Draco welcomed the bite of it against his flushed cheeks. The ballroom had felt stifling; overheated and overcrowded and _overwhelming._ Draco loved being the center of attention, but only on _his_ terms.

He wished he’d cried off the blasted evening. Wished he’d told his mother no. It was a Wednesday night of all things; he had things to do and places to be in the morning. It was hardly a good choice for an event of this sort to take place. But then, Draco had become quite adept at vanishing to Quidditch matches - and any other event he could think of - on Friday and Saturday evenings. Why, the previous weekend, he’d kipped off for the Harpies/Magpies match...and the weekend before, for the Kenmare/Magpies match. This weekend, he had a charity event on Friday, and a match between the Magpies and the Appleby Arrows on Saturday. So he knew why his mother had chosen a weekday, but that didn’t make him like it any better.

“Hiding from your adoring masses?”

Draco whipped around at the haughty tone. Moonlight caught on golden-blonde hair and amber eyes gleamed in the near-dark. “Perhaps.” Draco retorted, raising an eyebrow. “I’m certain you’ve done the same a time or two, haven’t you, Zach?”

“Undoubtedly.” Zacharias Smith laughed, and Draco couldn't help the grin that curved his own lips in reply. He had known Zach since they were little more than infants and, while they weren’t precisely _friends_ these days, he got along with the other man well enough. “I’m surprised you haven’t started refusing to come to these things altogether.”

“I’ve no doubt Mother would find a way to ensure my presence if I tried.” Draco rolled his eyes. “She’s determined to marry me off, and the sooner the better as far as she’s concerned.”

Zach huffed in amusement. “Yes, well. You’d think your... _proclivities,_ as it were, would put a damper on her enthusiasm for this particular endeavor.”

Draco’s smile softened and he shook his head slightly. “Sadly not. Mother sees no reason why I cannot marry a nice witch and simply boff who I like on the side. With the appropriate level of discretion, of course.”

“Of course.” Zach said, still laughing a bit. “Well, I imagine she’ll get it eventually. In the meantime, you’ll just have to keep slinking off for as much of these events as possible, won’t you?”

“Hmmm.” Draco hummed agreeably. “It helps when I can find someone to sneak off _with._ Then I can leave the party entirely and spend a few blessedly enjoyable hours _elsewhere_ until the whole affair is over. Unfortunately, Mother seems to have gotten rather good at _not_ inviting men who are... _inclined_ as I am. Which makes the whole thing a fair bit more difficult.”

Zach laughed outright again at that, stepping a little closer; a little more fully into Draco’s space. “I’d imagine so, yes. But then, she can’t suss _all_ of us out, can she? Especially not those of us who are dually inclined, as a few public goings-on with a woman on our arm acts as a fairly good shield.”

“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow, letting Zach reel him in until he was settled rather snugly against the other man’s lean body. He raised a taunting eyebrow. “And how is it I never knew you were interested in other blokes, despite knowing you all these years?”

Zach smirked, leaning down the little bit necessary to nip at the full curve of Draco’s bottom lip. “It’s hardly my fault you weren’t paying attention, Draco.” He closed the distance between their mouths, capturing Draco’s lips in a positively _filthy_ kiss. When they broke apart, he asked. “Want to get out of here?”

“Fuck yes.” Draco agreed, winding his arms around Zach’s neck and grinning. “Take me home and fuck me good, Zach. _You,_ I’ll even have breakfast with in the morning. _As friends.”_

Smirking smugly, Zach kissed the tip of Draco’s nose. “But of course. I’d hardly expect a _commitment_ from you, Draco. I’m not that sort, you know. My eventual marriage will be to please my family, and further our station, and produce heirs, and all that rot. As, I’d imagine, yours will be...should you ever _actually_ marry.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was laughing as well. “We’ll see. Now come on. Let’s get out of here, before Mother sends an elf to fetch me back to that dreadful ballroom.”

Zach, of course, obliged.

~*~*~*~

Pansy was soothingly rubbing Draco’s back. Blaise was pacing back and forth a bit manically, as though traversing the length of the parlour in Pansy’s London townhouse was going to help matters somehow. On the coffee table in front of the sofa Draco was perched on with Pansy, in a neat little row, were six blue-and-white sticks. Six, because when Pansy had run to the nearest store she’d been in a bit of a panic - on Draco’s behalf, of course - and had grabbed three boxes of the damned things, which held two each. And Draco hadn’t even considered _not_ using all of them, in the interest of accuracy. He’d gone into the bathroom, filled a little disposable paper cup, and stuck all six of the little sticks into it for about fifteen seconds before pulling them back out and capping them.

Then he’d stomped back to Pansy’s parlour and dropped them all on the table. Pansy was the one who’d lined them up neatly and now her eyes flicked between the clock on the mantel and the row of little pastel sticks. _Five minutes,_ the box had said. _Results in five minutes._ Or less, he supposed. Draco couldn't bring himself to look; to watch. As though doing so might make it truer than if he _didn’t_ watch the results as they happened. Instead, he stared at Blaise as his best friend - one of his best friends, anyway - continued stomping from one end of the room to the other. When Pansy gasped all of a sudden, her hand finding his and squeezing, Draco’s eyes dropped to the sticks as though magnetized.

_Oh._

There, as clear as day on each of the six blasted plastic tests, were twin red lines. Six tests. Twelve lines total. All of which added up to one thing.

“I’m _pregnant.”_

Pansy made a strangled sort of sound, hand clutching his so hard her nails bit into his palm and made him wince. “I don’t understand.” She whispered, and Draco could feel her trembling. “You...you’re a _bloke.”_

Draco let out a dry, barking laugh. “Yeah, a bloke who frequently takes it up the arse, Pan. Something you’re well aware of. Why the surprise?”

“Maybe because the odds of you getting fucked by your _soulmate_ are astronomical?” And okay, Draco did _not_ appreciate the sarcastic tone or the snarky eyebrowing Blaise was doing. “Bloody hell, Draco. What are you going to do?”

“Well, obviously I’m going to go to St. Mungo’s.” Draco rolled his eyes, exasperated. “I’d like it if at least one of you came with me, but I’ll go alone if I have to. Once I know how far along I am, I can set about informing the other father of the situation.”

Pansy was staring at him with wide, wide eyes. “Will you marry them, do you suppose?” She sounded odd; like she couldn't quite wrap her head around the whole thing. “I mean, if they’re your _soulmate...”_

“Genetic and magical compatibility is hardly the same thing as a _soulmate.”_ Draco snapped. “No matter _what_ fanciful historians and poets like to babble on about. There’s no proof that the compatibility of two wizards that allows for male impregnation makes those two wizards any better of a match than any two same-sex-inclined wizards who _aren’t_ compatible in that sense. If bloody _Godric Gryffindor_ hadn’t managed to get himself up the duff, I doubt anyone would _ever_ have labeled the phenomena as _soulmates_ in the first place.”

“Still...” Pansy sounded uncertain as she peered into Draco’s flushed, angry face. “Draco, this person is your chance to actually have a _real_ marriage. You could marry him, and have legitimate heirs, and your parents would be happy and _you_ could be happy.”

Blaise snorted at that. “Honestly, Pansy. We don’t even know who it is yet. Let’s hold off on picking out wedding bands and dishes just yet, yeah?” She flushed, looking away, and Blaise tsked softly. “I’m just saying. Draco’s hardly the most _discerning_ when he’s pulling. Let’s get a timeframe - and thus _a name_ \- before we go planning a happy ending for them, yes?”

Draco and Pansy locked eyes. “I’ll go with you.” Pansy murmured, squeezing Draco’s hand again. “And we’ll be here for you, every step of the way, no matter what.”

Blaise was nodding. “I’ve no interest in going to the healer with you, but you know I’m here for you. Whatever support or assistance I can provide, I will.”

“I know.” Draco smiled gratefully at both of his friends, his stomach swooping oddly as he considered everything. “I know, and thank you.”

There wasn’t much else to say.

~*~*~*~

Draco unwound the grey and black striped scarf from around his throat, handing it to Pansy as he walked towards the desk. He was unbuttoning his black great coat as he stopped in front of it, clearing his throat to draw the attention of the woman seated behind it. She raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Appointment with Healer Jameson.” Draco’s voice was pitched low in an effort to maintain as much privacy as he could, at least for the moment. Pansy was fluttering anxiously next to him. “It’s listed under Parkinson.”

And _that_ had been a strategic choice, because putting the name _Malfoy_ on an appointment with an antenatal healer was just asking for headlines. Pansy had graciously made the appointment under _her_ name instead, to help avoid the press. She wasn’t _nearly_ as interesting to the papers as Draco. The world would find out eventually - Draco had no delusions that he’d be able to keep a pregnancy and, subsequently, a child secret forever - but he wanted some measure of control over _when_ it got out. Which meant a certain level of discretion.

Pansy flitted next to his elbow, nervousness clear in every line of her curvy little form. The witch behind the desk flicked her eyes between them before asking dryly. “Couple?”

Draco shook his head tersely. “Best friend. Moral support. You understand how it is.”

The woman’s face went soft at the implication in Draco’s words - that the father wasn’t around - and she nodded sympathetically. “Of course, dear. There’s some forms to fill out. Maybe help her with them, as she’s probably nervous. You’ll be called back shortly. Just give the paperwork to the Mediwitch.”

“Thank you.” Draco took the clipboard and the self-inking quill from the woman, then gently guided Pansy over to the seating area.

Without hesitation, Pansy rested her cheek on Draco’s shoulder and watched as he filled in form after form as quickly as possible. “Are you scared?” She whispered it.

“Bloody well terrified.” Draco murmured back, because he _was._ “Though honestly, right now, I just want to get through this bloody appointment and then through Christmas. Everything else can sod off until the New Year, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You don’t think you ought to tell the father sooner?” Pansy hissed, sitting up to shoot him a scandalized look. “It’s still a week until _Christmas,_ Draco, let alone the New Year!”

“Yes, and I’ve enough on my plate just at the moment.” Draco said pointedly, quill still scratching away as he filled in the last page of the paperwork he’d been handed. “I’ll tell him _after_ the holidays, when things have settled down a bit. No point in ruining anyone’s Christmas, now is there?”

Before Pansy could say something else - and she was certainly going to, if the bitchy look on her face was any indication - a Mediwitch stepped out of a door and called out. “Parkinson?”

Pansy rose, and Draco rose with her. They silently followed the Mediwitch, who led them to a bright and cheery exam room. One wall had a corkboard on it that was very nearly _covered_ in photos of babies. Some were just the baby, some where the baby with its parents, and some were family photos with parents and several children. There were also several drawings, clearly done by young children. It looked like a testament to how well-liked Healer Jameson was, that the happy families sent him mementos. Draco didn’t know if it made him feel any better or not, that his Healer was apparently good at his job.

The Mediwitch took the clipboard from Draco and slid it into a rack on the back of the door, then smiled at Pansy as Draco hung his coat - and the scarf he took back from Pansy - on a provided hook. “Just strip down to the waist, dear, and put the gown on so it’s open in the back. I’ll be back in a minute to take your vitals.”

As the door swung shut behind her, Pansy gestured to the exam table and the gown - a pastel bluish-purple color with little white flowers on it - folded neatly on the end of it. “Well, you heard the woman.” Pansy said, smirking just a bit. “Clothes off, darling.”

Draco snorted, but obligingly removed his jumper and undershirt, which Pansy sweetly folded. He also removed his shoes - for comfort’s sake - and his belt, as it was likely Healer Jameson would required unrestricted access to Draco’s stomach at some point. He pulled the gown on and perched on the edge of the exam table, staring down at his socked feet and feeling vaguely nauseated. Pansy said nothing, and Draco knew it cost her a lot to not babble as she was wont to do when nervous. He appreciated it. His thoughts were chaotic enough as it was, without adding anything else to the mix.

The door opened again and the Mediwitch froze, eyes shifting between Pansy and Draco in confusion. “I...don’t understand.” She stepped inside and closed the door before giving Draco a funny look. “Mr. Malfoy, you _do_ understand that you’re in an _antenatal_ Healer’s office?

“I do. And please, just Draco is fine.” Draco managed in a somewhat level voice. The Mediwitch looked familiar, though he wasn’t sure why. “I wanted to avoid any sort of press leaks before I was officially a patient and thus under patient confidentiality, so Pansy kindly made the appointment in her name. I filled out all the paperwork I handed you properly.”

Her eyes flicked to the clipboard, then she looked back at Draco. “You’re saying that you believe _you_ are...”

“Pregnant, yes.” Draco agreed, and oh _lovely,_ that was bile climbing his throat. He hopped off the exam table and moved swiftly towards the trash bin. Sure enough, seconds later he was emptying his stomach of his breakfast in great, rushing heaves.

When he finished, the Mediwitch - her name tag, Draco noted, read _Sally-Anne_ \- shushed him soothingly and guided him over to the sink to rinse his mouth. “Have you taken a test?” She asked softly.

Draco nodded while swishing his mouth. Held up both hands, one spread wide and the other with only his thumb sticking out. Sally’s eyes widened. “Six? You took _six_ tests?”

Draco spit, then nodded again. “Yes, and they were all positive. It seemed fairly conclusive to me.”

“Yes, I should think so.” Sally gestured towards the exam table. “Well, alright then. Let’s get on with taking your vitals and I’ll take a bit of blood to do a confirmation test, strictly for paperwork reasons. If you got six positives, I’d have to say you’re _probably_ in a ways.”

Draco sat and let her poke and prod at him, doing whatever she needed to do. She was calm, and soothing, and quite professional. And it didn’t take long for him to place her. As she was finishing up, he said softly. “You were in my year. A Hufflepuff.”

Sally looked up, a small smile curving her lips. “Yes, I was. Though a case could be made that _you_ were in _my_ year, as a Slytherin. Depending on one’s perspective.”

Draco gave her a weak smile. “Yes, I suppose so. I was actually hoping not to see anyone I knew while I was here, to be honest. But this isn’t so bad.”

“I wouldn’t say we _know_ each other, Draco.” Sally patted his hand lightly and added. “But sometimes, a familiar face is all one needs to feel a bit more at ease in an uncertain situation.” She glanced at Pansy, who had been still and silent the whole time, then added. “Healer Jameson will be in to see you in a few minutes. I’ll let him know who his patient _actually_ is.”

Draco nodded and murmured a quiet thank you. Sally slipped out of the room a moment later and Pansy finally spoke. “Holding up okay?”

“As well as can be expected.” Draco reassured her, though mustering another smile was beyond him. “I just want to go home and lie down for a bit.”

“Soon.” Pansy promised, standing and moving close enough to rub soothing circles against his lower back, where his skin was exposed by the thin cotton gown he had on. “Very soon, darling.”

Draco slumped far enough to the side to rest his cheek against the top of Pansy’s head, her dark hair soft against his face. “Thank you.” He told her softly. “For everything.” Pansy didn’t reply but then, she didn’t need to.

There was a soft knock on the door, then it opened to reveal an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes behind the reading glasses perched on his thin blade of a nose. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy.” His voice was low and soft and soothing; something about it had Draco’s shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I’m Healer Jameson, though you’re welcome to call me Mitch.”

“Draco.” He replied, and this time he managed to smile just a bit. “I, uh...don’t imagine you get many patients like me, considering.”

“No, I don’t.” Jameson agreed, stepping closer as Pansy moved back to the chair she’d been sitting on. “But I’d imagine we’ll get through this just fine. And I’ve had one or two during my fifty years as a Healer, so it’s certainly nothing I can’t handle.”

Draco nodded and Jameson moved even closer. “I’m going to touch your stomach, cast a couple of spells, and we’ll figure out how far along you are and how things are progressing. We’ll also listen to the heartbeat, and we can do an imaging spell, if you’re interested.”

Draco nodded, laying back on the exam table and letting Jameson push the gown up and out of the way. Cool hands pressed along his belly, just above his pelvic bone. It felt... _strange._ Part of him wanted to swat the hands away; to curl protectively around his belly and _snarl._ Knowing that was ridiculous, he curled his fingers around the edges of bed to stop himself. Jameson chuckled and Draco looked at him with a frown, wondering what was funny.

“Sorry. It’s just...pregnant men tend to react a bit stronger to the hormones. Probably because they have lower numbers to start than women do, so it’s a bigger change.” He nodded towards where Draco was clinging to the table. “I’m guessing you’re feeling protective of the baby, but you’re logical enough to know that shoving away your Healer is silly.”

Draco could feel his cheeks flushing in embarrassment as Pansy snickered from nearby, and Jameson patted his stomach gently. “It’s quite alright. Perfectly normal reaction, I assure you. I’m going to cast now.”

Draco closed his eyes and waited, the quiet murmur of Jameson’s voice and the whisper-soft brush of foreign magic against his skin easier to take when he wasn’t looking at the wand pointing at his stomach. After a few minutes, Jameson asked. “Would you like to see the baby while we do the heartbeat check?”

“I...” Draco opened his eyes, looking down at the slight curve of his stomach. It was nothing new; nothing unusual for him. He’d always had the faintest hint of a curve to his belly, though he’d admit it was a bit... _firmer_ to the touch now, than it had been. Swallowing, he nodded. “Yeah. Yes. I...okay.”

Jameson smiled and Pansy was suddenly at Draco’s side, clutching his hand tightly in both of her own, as though that might make this less nerve-wracking for one or both of them. It didn’t. Jameson cast and the strangest sound filled the air. It was soft, and fast...like a hummingbird’s wings. _Whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump._ It sounded so rapid; almost like it was _too_ fast. He felt the first wave of fear wash over him and clung tighter to Pansy’s hand.

“It...is it supposed to...to be that fast?” He asked, throat tight around the words.

“It is.” Jameson soothed, smiling kindly. “An unborn baby’s heart rate is about double an adult’s. It sounds just as it should, and quite strong as well.”

“Oh.” Draco sort of melted into the bed in relief. “Oh, good. That’s...that’s good.”

Jameson huffed softly in amusement and cast again. Draco’s eyes widened at the image above his belly; the blurry sort of picture of what was inside him. “O-oh...”

Pansy let out a quiet sound of love and awe, her whole face soft and open and adoring. “Oh look, Draco...you can see the head, and a hand, and...it’s a _tiny person.”_

Jameson laughed outright this time. “It certainly is. Now, we won’t know the gender for another four to eight weeks - between weeks sixteen and twenty - but everything seems to be going well. You’re going to start showing soon, Draco, so I’d advise you to start informing those you’d like to have find out directly from you sooner rather than later. Another week or two and you’ll have speculation abounding, though perhaps not as much as if you were a _female_ and thus the cause of your growth more obvious of a conclusion.”

“Wait, I’m _three months along?”_ Draco had pushed up to sitting, disrupting the imaging spell with his movement and causing Jameson to take a quick step back in surprise. “No, I...I _can’t_ be. That’s...I thought I was closer to the two month mark. I don’t...” He shook his head quickly. “Wait, so I conceived in...in September?”

“October, actually.” Jameson corrected, moving to grab the clipboard from the back of the door and making notes on some of the pages as he spoke. “The second week or so, though a week sooner or later is certainly possible and pinpointing a specific date is difficult. Male pregnancies have a larger window for conception. Under the right circumstances, of course. We typically begin counting a pregnancy from roughly two weeks before conception, but mapping a pregnancy’s progress with no menstrual cycle requires a bit more guesswork. Honestly, even mapping a female pregnancy involves a bit of guesswork. Gestation is tricky like that.”

“October.” Draco said, feeling suddenly dizzy and off-balance. “You...the _second week_ of October?”

“Most likely.” Jameson agreed, looking a bit concerned. “You seem distraught. Is something wrong?”

Draco swallowed hard. “Only that I’m quite-possibly going to rock the Wizarding World with a scandal like they’ve never seen before.” Wincing at the increased concern on the Healer’s face, and at the tight grip Pansy had on his hand, he asked hoarsely. “How early can we test for paternity?”

The older man blinked in surprise. “Is there more than one possible father?” Draco nodded and Jameson sighed, looking sympathetic. “Unfortunately, given the magic involved in a male pregnancy, we can’t test until the child is born. I wish I had a better answer.”

“Yeah.” Draco laughed, a little hysterically. “Yeah, so do I.”

~*~*~*~

Draco paced anxiously around his bedroom, one hand pressed to his lower belly. Healer Jameson had been telling the truth, about him starting to show. It was as though the man’s words had given Draco’s body permission to betray him. It was Christmas Eve, and he’d changed _three times_ because no matter what he put on, there was a distinctive little bulge between his hip bones, right in the center. None of his dress robes were doing a damned thing to hide it, and he knew that was his own fault for wearing such slinky, tight dress robes in the first place but he couldn't help glaring down at his belly as though it, alone, were at fault.

He honestly didn’t know if he’d make it to the New Year before the newspapers caught wind of this little PR disaster, which meant he was going to have to buck up and _deal with it._ Sighing, Draco yanked the latest set of robes off and grabbed a pair of trousers that had always been a little big on him and an oversized jumper. It wasn’t what he’d _prefer_ to wear to his mother’s annual party, but it would have to suffice. If anyone said anything, he’d make a joke about _holiday weight_ and hope it passed muster.

He had to get through tonight...and he had to get through Christmas day. After that, he’d...well, he’d stop putting off the inevitable. Two days. That was all he needed.

~*~*~*~

_In light of recent events - and due to our previous intimate acquaintance - I am writing to request your presence at an informal meeting. Details are enclosed. As this is a matter of some urgency, rescheduling is not an option. Please arrive on-time. As Ever, ~ Draco Malfoy_

Draco stared down at the identical script staring up at him from three separate sheets of parchment. He filled in the necessary name at the start of each one, then slipped them into their respective envelopes and passed them off to a waiting house elf, to be taken to the owlery. The whole thing had left him feeling vaguely ill.

With a throbbing pain taking up residence behind his temples - something Draco had been warned to expect in the coming weeks, due to hormonal influxes that often caused headaches - Draco drifted over to his bed and laid down. He had things he ought to be doing - things he had to take care of - but he couldn't be bothered. He was exhausted, and stressed, and miserable. Draco was also, for the first time in a number of years, _afraid._

~*~*~*~

Draco stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and noted that three tables held occupants who immediately looked at _him_ as he entered. Without speaking - or making eye contact with any of them - he nodded towards the stairs, which led to the private rooms upstairs. He had already booked one in advance and he didn’t hesitate now; mounted the stairs swiftly and used the key he’d been given to unlock the small sitting room. He stepped back, leaning against the wall beside the door, and kept his eyes on the stairs. This...was going to get awkward. _Quickly._

Zacharias Smith came up first, almost right after Draco. He should have expected that; the lack of hesitation and minimal discretion on Zach’s part were hardly uncharacteristic, after all. Zach raised an eyebrow at Draco, but entered the sitting room when Draco nodded towards it. It wasn’t much more than a few minutes later when Roger Davies hit the top of the stairs. He spotted Draco right away and a look that was equal parts confusion and hope was plastered across his face. Draco simply nodded towards the open door next to him and Roger obligingly went inside. Draco wondered what Zach and Roger would talk about; wondered what they’d think of the other one being present at all.

And then, before he could really start to worry, Harry Potter was striding up the hallway. He was dressed in his Auror robes, and that sent a funny little thrill through Draco. Made something inside him go soft and liquid, and kind of shivery and warm. Potter was looking at him with a funny smile on his lips, almost like he couldn't quite believe that he was face-to-face with Draco again. And Draco could certainly understand that feeling. He just...he wasn’t really sure what to _do_ with it. So he waved at the door, following close on Potter’s heels as he entered. It was the work of a few seconds to close the door behind him and cast a slew of privacy and locking charms on it, because Draco _needed_ this meeting to be a secret. At least for the moment.

He turned around to find Roger looking between Zach and Potter in confusion. Zach was sneering at Potter like the Auror was covered in manure. And Potter was glaring at Zach like he’d dearly love to eviscerate the other man and was simply waiting for an excuse to do so. As it was, this was already _not_ going well.

Draco cleared his throat, then gestured to the various sofas and chairs arranged in a tidy semi-circle before the fireplace. “If you’ll all sit, I’ll get right to the point of why I asked you all here.”

“Please do.” Potter bit out, making Draco wonder what it was about Zach that had so utterly destroyed any semblance of warmth or politeness from Potter’s demeanor. “I’m on lunch and I’ve got to be back in the office shortly.”

Draco waited until everyone had taken a seat - Potter on a couch and the other two on separate chairs. Draco, for his part, stood near the warmth pouring out of the fireplace. He’d found himself getting cold more easily lately, and shivering through this wasn’t something he wanted to do. Then, he cleared his throat again and tried to figure out where to start. With apologies? With platitudes? With reassurances? There was etiquette here, he was certain of it, he just...wasn’t sure what it _was._

Finally, he just started speaking. “I’m sure you’re all quite confused, but let me begin by stating that you’re all here for precisely the same reason.”

For a moment, the three men simply stared at Draco in shock, then they looked at each other. And finally, Potter’s nose wrinkled up in disgust and he muttered not _quite_ quietly enough. “Ew.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Draco bit out from between clenched teeth, because _what the fuck._ He had a feeling he ought to be offended.

Potter flushed, but raised his chin stubbornly and admitted. “I just don’t like knowing my cock’s been the same place _Smith’s_ has been, is all. Bit disturbing.”

There was an odd pause, then Roger snorted and began to laugh. Draco sighed and rubbed at his forehead as the other two stared at Roger - Zach in annoyance, and Potter in amusement. “If we’re quite done with that whole train of thought...” Draco snapped, because he had so _little_ patience these days. “The reason I asked you all here is because there has been an unexpected... _consequence._ And I’m afraid that one of you is directly involved in the whole mess, though I don’t yet know _which_ one.”

There was another awkward pause, then Roger sat up a bit straighter, something like awe on his face. “Wait, are you...are you saying that you’re _pregnant?”_

Draco blushed, but nodded slowly. “Ah...yes? I mean, _yes,_ I am. I...that wasn’t a question, I’m sorry. I _am_ pregnant, yes. And it’s...well. It’s _someone’s,_ obviously. One of yours. I don’t...I don’t know _who._ There’s something of a window of uncertainty, for the date of conception, you see, and all three of you...well. Anyway, we can’t test until the baby is born, but that’s how things stand.”

“So one of us is your soulmate.” Zach said, eyes wide and shocked. After a moment, a smirk slid onto his face and he purred. “If it’s me, consider yourself officially off the market, Draco. If you can give me heirs, my parents will be _delighted_ to have you marry me. They’ve certainly lamented the fact that neither of us have any sisters often enough.”

Draco choked a little on laughter that was _maybe_ damp around the edges. “Thank you, Zach. I, uh...appreciate the offer. And yes, I’d imagine Father would be thrilled with the match, should the child be yours.”

“Not your mother, though?” Zach raised an amused eyebrow at the omission.

“Well. Mother’s never liked you much.” Draco shrugged, still laughing a little tearily. “Or your parents, for that matter. And she doesn’t exactly hide it well.”

Zach hummed in agreement, and Roger said softly. “Are you expecting a proposal, then? From whichever of us is the father, I mean. Because I don’t know if I can offer that. I’ll certainly help with the baby, if it’s mine. But I’ve always planned to marry for love. And soulmates or not, I don’t _love you,_ Draco. I don’t even really know you, outside of the obvious way.”

“I don’t expect anything.” Draco assured him, and it was true. “But one of you is the father and whichever it is deserves to know. They - meaning, each of you - deserves the chance to be there, however much or little you each like, throughout the whole process. Healers appointments, and the growth of the thing, and the birth...all of it. So waiting until I could find out which of you it is seemed unfair.”

For a moment, there was utter silence. Then Potter was on his feet, backing towards the door. “I...I have to go. I’m sorry, I...” He cast quickly, ripping down all of Draco’s charms in an instant. “I’ll be in touch, Malfoy. I just...I _can’t_ right now, I...sorry. _Sorry.”_

The door shut behind him and Draco was left staring at it, mouth open in shock and something cold and heavy sitting in the pit of his stomach.

“Well.” It was Roger who broke the silence first. “That was a bit immature.”

“That’s Potter for you.” Zach drawled, rolling his eyes. “I can’t even say I’m surprised.” He got to his feet, crossing to Draco and brushing his lips over the other blonde’s cheek. “I’m afraid I have to go as well, but you’ll hear from me soon enough. Let me know if there’s anything you need, and when your next Healer’s appointment is. I’ll absolutely be there.”

Draco nodded and watched Zach leave, with much less flair than Potter had. Then he turned to Roger and offered a weak smile. “I suppose that could have gone worse.” He said, then admitted. “Though just at the moment, I’m not entirely sure how.”

“We _all_ could have run off like frightened schoolboys.” Roger offered and Draco had to admit, that _would_ have been worse, for sure. He glanced at his watch, then added. “I’ve got nowhere to be for another few hours. Would you care to get lunch? I know a quaint little place in Vertic Alley.”

Draco blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly. The offer was unexpected, but not unwelcome. “I...I’d like that, thank you.”

Roger gestured for Draco to go first and he did, feeling a bit of hope unfurling in his chest despite Potter’s unpleasant reaction to the news that he was potentially going to be a father. Because maybe Potter had reacted badly, but Draco and Zach were already friends and Roger seemed willing to _try_ to make this work, and two out of three wasn’t bad. Besides, what were the odds it was even Potter’s kid, anyway? Something like 33% and that wasn’t much at all.

~*~*~*~

Draco looked up in surprise when a house elf popped up in front of him. “Master Draco is having a visitor.” She said, her wide blue eyes unblinking and - honestly - a bit unnerving. “Shall Dilly be showing Master’s visitor in?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” Draco agreed, waving a hand dismissively.

It was probably Pansy, as he imagined Blaise was still in bed at this time of day. Why the house elves still bothered asking before showing Pansy in was beyond Draco; he’d told them they didn’t have to a thousand times but it never made a bit of difference. Draco was sprawled - in a rather undignified manner - across a sky blue, button-tufted velvet chaise in the conservatory. Draco frowned, staring up at the glass ceiling high above him and the trees and plants - and occasional bird - between where he was and the aforementioned ceiling. Was it a conservatory? Perhaps, or perhaps it was an orangery. Or a sun parlour. He’d never been quite certain on the finer nuances of such things.

Mind flitting absently from one thing to the next, Draco closed his eyes and let his hands stroke soothingly over the growing bump nestled into his pelvic bone as he pondered the differences between a sitting room, a morning room, and a drawing room. The manor had all of them and he honestly couldn't tell the difference. He wasn’t sure _anyone_ could tell the difference, actually. Except - perhaps - his mother. And Draco wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t just bluffing. After all, how would anyone be able to tell?

The sound of footsteps dimly registered, but the air around Draco was warm and vaguely humid and he felt a bit hazy and terribly languid. His fingers had slipped beneath his shirt, still petting the skin that was stretched taut and was actually a little sore. He’d been told that was normal - something about round ligament pain as his body stretched to accommodate his little _passenger_ \- but it wasn’t exactly pleasant. He hummed softly under his breath as he waited for Pansy to reach him. No doubt she came bearing gossip; that was the only reason she ever bothered him in the middle of the day, after all.

A masculine clearing of a throat had Draco startling upright, eyes wide and hands instinctively yanking his shirt back down to protectively cover his abdomen. He met the amused green of Potter’s eyes and found himself feeling strangely off-balance. It had been a week since he’d informed the potential fathers of his pregnancy and, during that time, he had seen both Roger and Zach several times, including seeing _both_ of them at a New Year’s Eve get-together two nights earlier. He had not seen Potter _once._ Nor had he heard anything from the other man; not so much as an _owl._

And now Potter was standing in his conservatory-orangery-sun parlour- _whatever_ and he hadn’t the faintest idea why or what he ought to be saying. So instead of saying anything, Draco simply stared.

“Er...hi.” Potter’s voice was soft and a bit embarrassed, but it did nothing to set Draco at ease. “I’m sorry for running off the other day and for not coming to see you sooner.”

“It’s fine.” Draco looked away from Potter’s intense gaze, instead studying the broad leaves of a nearby potted plant. He didn’t know what it was, but it was attractive enough to look at. “I can’t imagine what a shock this whole thing has been. And we hardly have the best history.”

“Oh...oh, no, that’s not...” Potter laughed, and the sound was tired. Draco looked back at him and noted the dark circles under the man’s eyes, and the fact that Potter was wearing his Auror uniform, and the fact that it was actually sort of _filthy._ “Can I sit? Can...can we talk?”

Draco nodded slowly, gesturing to the various furniture near him. “Of course.”

Potter sat down on the chair nearest to Draco, smiling tiredly. “There’s an alert-band we Aurors wear. It went off when you were telling us...well. It was big. I’ve been dealing with the case since then. As soon as everyone was in custody and I was allowed to leave, I came right here. I can imagine what you thought when I ran out, but I want you to know that it wasn’t like that. Not at all.”

Potter looked down at his hands, a blush staining his cheeks as he added. “Though I didn’t actually know men could get pregnant at all, and I may have driven my Auror-partner a bit barmy demanding she fill me in on everything she knew while we were doing the stakeout portion of things, since she’s a pureblood and I figured she had to know _something,_ anyway.”

“Oh.” Draco swallowed hard, then asked in a whisper. “Are you...I mean, you heard how Roger and Zach feel, about if it’s theirs, and I just...I don’t know how _you_ feel.”

Potter’s lips curved up and he met Draco’s eyes. “Honestly? I hope it _is_ mine. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want that. And I didn’t even realize it, until I walked in here and saw you petting your belly, but I _do_ want that.” He laughed, running a hand through his dark hair and looking a bit sheepish. “I always knew I wanted kids, I just...I didn’t realize I wanted them _now._ But I do.”

Draco looked away, then back again. He opened his mouth, then closed it. After a pause, he opened it again, bit his lower lip for a moment, then finally said. “Even if it’s with me?”

Potter’s smile grew and his eyes went soft even as his cheeks turned pink. “I wasn’t the one who made things into a one-night stand, _Draco._ I offered breakfast and a day spent together, and _someone_ snuck out of my bed, leaving me with a note that made it perfectly clear they didn’t want anything more. I was respecting that, but that doesn’t mean it’s what _I_ wanted.” Potter’s cheeks flushed darker and he mumbled. “I don’t...really _do_ casual sex. You know, normally. Ever. At all.”

“O-oh.”

And Draco remembered it now; the way Potter had curled around him afterwards and sleepily mumbled sweet things to him. Remembered his own panic, because Draco had never been interested in _long-term_ or _loving partner_ or _settling down._ But that...that had been _before._ Before the life growing inside him. Before he’d realized how much he _wanted_ a family. And how much he wanted someone to do the whole family-thing _with._ Because doing it alone seemed daunting, and terrifying, and overwhelming. But doing it _with_ someone seemed exciting, and wonderful, and full of possibilities. And he wasn’t sure yet, who he’d be doing this thing with but...

But Draco thought, if he had to choose, that maybe Potter - _Harry_ \- wouldn’t be the worst choice. Because he _knew_ Zach, but he wasn’t sure they’d make a good match or that Zach would be a good husband...or a good _father._ And Roger barely knew him, and he barely knew Roger, and other than Quidditch and a certain enjoyment of reading, they didn’t have much in common, and Draco actually found that the more time he spent with the older man the more _boring_ Roger became. And Roger would be there for the child, Draco didn’t doubt that, but he was beginning to doubt that Roger would ever want to be there for _him_ and that was just depressing. But _Harry..._

Harry _knew_ Draco. Maybe not as well now as he once had, but well-enough. He knew the worst parts of Draco; the parts Draco liked to pretend didn’t exist. He had seen Draco at his lowest point; at his most vulnerable, and also at his most reprehensible. He knew everything that Draco was, and had ever been, and he _still_ wanted to try this. To see if they could make it work. And it was deeply enticing, because Draco knew Harry as well. Knew Harry at eleven, scared and unsure and still finding his feet. Knew Harry at fourteen, defiant and angry and growing stronger every day despite what the world threw at him. Knew Harry at seventeen, self-sacrificing and stubborn and determined to fix the cracks that other people had made in the world, either because he’d been told he had to or because he _believed_ he had to or because he simply couldn't stand to see it broken. Draco wasn’t sure which, but it was impressive whatever the reason. He knew Harry in the wake of war, struggling to stay out of the limelight but still desperate to right the many wrongs going on; speaking at Draco’s trial, returning his wand, and becoming an Auror because what else could he possibly do but be _so good_ that it almost hurt to be around him.

And maybe Draco didn’t quite know him _now,_ but he did know _some things._ He knew that Harry was on the fast track to becoming Head Auror the _second_ Robards retired. He knew that Harry had a fairly active role in his godson’s life - Teddy, who was Draco’s cousin. He knew that Harry still hated the limelight, and Ministry functions, and making headlines but he’d gotten _much_ better at handling the press as time went on. And he knew what Harry’s hands felt like on his skin. Knew what it felt like to have Harry _inside_ of him. Knew that Harry made soft sounds in his sleep and that he was something of a snuggler.

It was more than Draco knew about most people, whether he’d slept with them or not.

Harry hadn’t said anything in a few minutes...and neither had Draco. And finally it was too much for Harry, who cleared his throat awkwardly and pushed to his feet. “Well. I’m sorry to have, er...intruded. On your day. I should really...go. Home. And shower. Change. Sleep. Something. I don’t...I’m sorry.” He shook his head, took two steps away, then turned back with an anxious look. “You...you’ll keep me informed? About the baby, I mean.”

Draco said nothing, just stared at Harry in stunned surprise, and Harry’s face was a deep red now. He shook his head and started to walk away again. “Right. Sorry. I’ll just...go.”

“Wait!” Draco called out, before Harry could get too far. The brunette froze, back stiff and seemingly terrified to turn around and face Draco again. So Draco continued, albeit haltingly. “I...I was just...surprised. You don’t have to go. I mean, if you...if you don’t want to. I...are you hungry? Or you...you can use my shower, I don’t...I’m sure you’re tired, of course, but...”

Harry turned slowly around, every line of his body screaming caution. “I...could eat. And a shower would be nice, if...if you don’t mind.” He glanced down at himself and wrinkled his nose, adding. “And if you don’t mind me borrowing something to wear.”

“Not at all.” Draco assured, standing up and walking slowly to Harry’s side. Everything between them felt tenuous; stretched thin, as though it might shatter at any moment. “I...”

“Yes?” Harry’s voice was little more than breath; not even a whisper.

Draco licked his lips nervously. “Did you mean it? That...that you’d like to try? If...if it’s your baby, I mean.”

“Honestly?” Harry murmured, looking a little nervous all of a sudden. “I’d like to try anyway. Even...even if it’s Smith’s, or Davies’ kid. You don’t love either one of them, and Davies didn’t even seem interested in a relationship if it _was_ his, and Smith’s only offering a marriage of convenience, and I...I think we could be better than that. I think we could be _more_ than that. If...if you want to try, too. If you think you _can_ try. With me.”

“Oh.” Draco bit his lip again, chewing on the corner of it for just a moment before finally letting himself smile at Harry, just a bit. “I suppose we can try. If...if you’re sure you’d like to.”

“I’d like that very much.” Harry agreed, and Draco felt warmth blossom in his chest at the very idea.

~*~*~*~

Draco called Dilly to lead Harry to the bathroom nearest _his_ room, while he went to find something for Harry to wear when he was done. Then he let Dilly know that Harry would be staying for lunch, and asked her to let the kitchen know. When she’d popped off again, Draco sat down on his bed to wait. It wasn’t long - much less time than he’d expected it to take; no more than twenty minutes, certainly - before Harry was knocking on his door and sticking his head inside. Draco smiled, then flushed and looked away quickly when Harry entered the room wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

“S-sorry.” Harry stuttered and Draco resolutely did _not_ look at him while gesturing towards the clothes he’d laid out. “Ah, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Draco managed, voice a little hoarse. He could hear Harry moving around and refused to look anywhere other than the wall behind his bed, which was _most_ fascinating. “I’d imagine it feels good to be clean, considering. The elves will launder your uniform and I’ll make sure you get it back.”

“Okay.” Harry touched Draco’s arm, causing him to startle because he’d had no idea the other man was so close to him. “You can look at me now. I’m decent.” When Draco turned, Harry added laughingly. “Though you’ve already seen me naked, so I’m not sure why you’re so embarrassed _now.”_

Draco shrugged, even as he admired the way the charcoal grey slacks and green, long-sleeved henley looked on Harry’s muscular form. They were a bit loose on _him,_ but on Harry they clung to broad shoulders and strong arms and his well-defined abs. “It feels different, somehow. I’ve never been _involved_ with someone before. Not beyond a night. A weekend, at most.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “It’s okay. I kind of like the way you blush around me.” He smiled when Draco glared at him, looking far too pleased with himself. “That night, I felt like you had all the control. Like I was just...I don’t know, along for the ride. And it was amazing, don’t get me wrong. But I was hoping to put us on more even footing, which is why I asked you to stay the night and spend the next day with me. Instead, you left and I was left feeling off-balance about the whole thing. It’s nice, to feel like the steady one now.”

A soft chime sounded and Draco groaned before getting to his feet. “That’s lunch, if you’re still hungry.” He shot Harry a sideways look, adding a bit uncertainly. “I...haven’t told my parents yet. I’m not entirely sure how to, to be honest. Do you...what I mean to say is, _would_ you...”

“We can tell them together.” Harry agreed easily, like it wasn’t completely terrifying to even consider. He held out a hand to Draco and, with a racing heart and palms he would deny were sweaty, Draco took it. And when Harry smiled at him, Draco took a fortifying breath and led the Savior towards the dining room.

~*~*~*~

Narcissa greeted Harry with a pleased - if a bit confused - smile. She stood and pressed her cheek to his, making a soft kissing sound, before sitting back down and beaming at him. “How lovely to see you again, Harry. What brings you to our table?”

Draco watched as Harry cast a nervous look at Lucius, who was smiling in a way that said he’d rather like to stab Harry with the knife he was fingering. Then Harry sat down next to Draco, in the seat between him and the end of the table where Narcissa was sitting - despite there being two seats _not_ next to Draco to choose from - and said softly. “I came to speak to Draco, and he invited me to have lunch with him. As I don’t think I’ve eaten in the last twenty hours or so, I agreed very happily.”

“Harry came here directly from a week-long Auror mission.” Draco explained when Narcissa’s eyes widened in surprise. “I let him take a shower and borrow something clean, so he’d be presentable for lunch. I’d imagine once he eats, he’ll wish to sleep for the next twelve hours, at least.”

“Will he be doing _that_ here as well?” Lucius snarked while reaching for his wine glass.

Draco cringed, but Harry snorted next to him. Then, Draco startled as Harry gently settled a strong, too-warm hand on top of his and all but _purred._ “Well, that’s entirely up to Draco, but I certainly wouldn’t object. Provided he joins me, of course. I’ve never liked sleeping alone in someone else’s bed.”

“Oh sweet Merlin.” Draco whimpered, using the hand _not_ held captive by Harry to cover his face. He wondered if he could simply _will_ himself into non-being from sheer embarrassment.

Lucius had choked on his damned wine, and was coughing into a napkin. Narcissa was staring at Draco with barely concealed concern. “Draco, darling...” She murmured, eyes flicking between him and Harry. “You know how fond I am of Harry, and how much I wish for you to be happy. But there are duties to consider. Heirs, for one thing. I know we’ve talked about this before and I did think you understood...”

“Mother...” Draco groaned, lowering his hand to glare at her, though it was admittedly more pleading than truly angry. “Can we _not_ just at the moment?” As he spoke, food appeared on the table and he seized the chance. “I’m sure this can wait until _after_ we’ve all eaten, yes?”

Narcissa pursed her lips in displeasure, and Lucius was red-faced and fuming, but no one said anything. Even Harry was silent, though a quick glance at the Auror showed he seemed smugly amused rather than cowed or embarrassed or even apologetic. Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he _did_ know how he felt about the food spread across the table. He was _ravenous._ That was becoming more common with each passing day, actually; something _else_ the Healer had told Draco to expect. 

He didn’t think much of it as he began to eat, eagerly assembling the food the way he wanted it. It wasn’t until he’d finished ripping apart a small roast beef sandwich so he could add the roast beef to the cucumber sandwich he’d opened that he realized Harry was watching him with a look that could only be described as _fond._ Draco flushed, but refused to back down. He locked eyes with Harry, picked the triangular sandwich up, and took a rather large bite. And fuck him, but it was _amazing._ Draco actually closed his eyes to savor it, it was so good.

Harry chuckled softly and Draco opened his eyes to glare balefully at the brunette, but Harry had turned back to his own lunch. He still looked far too pleased with himself for Draco’s tastes, but that was fine; that was something he could live with. Especially when his own food was _so good._ He took a second bite, which was just as enjoyable as the first had been, only to notice that his parents were both staring at him as well. Lucius looked disgusted, but Draco had to admit that might have been because of the whole _Harry Potter_ thing. Narcissa, however, looked a bit concerned.

“That’s a very odd sandwich, dear.” She chided, much the way she had when he was a child and he’d played with his food rather than eating it straight away. Then, as though attempting to lighten the mood, she added with a laugh. “I do hope you aren’t pregnant.”

The whole table clattered as Harry startled so viciously that he knocked into it with his knee whilst choking on his food. Draco glared at him - more fiercely this time - until he got control of himself. His glare only deepened when he realized that Harry was _laughing,_ the fucking tosser.

“You _absolute walnut.”_ Draco hissed at him, reaching out under the table to grip Harry’s thigh, letting his nails bite into the muscle through the thin fabric of the borrowed trousers. “If you do not get control of yourself _this instant,_ I swear...”

“You’ll what?” Harry teased, still laughing a bit, a huge grin on his face. Draco wasn’t sure what his face looked like, but it must have showed at least _some_ of his distress, because Harry was immediately remorseful. “No, no...I’m sorry, I am. I just...we were going to tell them, weren't we? And it was such a _perfect_ opening. Not to mention, I think it’s terribly adorable that you’ve got cravings or whatever.”

“Draco, _are_ you pregnant?” Narcissa gasped, standing so abruptly that her chair toppled over behind her. Draco couldn't quite find his voice, so he simply stared at her, tears welling up in his eyes between one breath and the next.

“Oh...oh, _darling...”_ Narcissa was at his side in an instant, nudging Harry out of the way so she could enfold him in a warm hug, shushing him soothingly. “Darling boy, no tears now. This is _wonderful,_ truly. Perhaps not quite the order I’d prefer things had happened in, but still. I’m going to be a _grandmother.”_

Draco laughed, drawing back to grin up at her. Because there had been such _joy_ in her words that he couldn't feel anything but happy himself. “Yes, you are. In, oh...a bit less than six months, actually.”

“So soon?” Narcissa said, eyes wide. “Well. And you didn’t say? But then, I’d imagine it took a long while for you to even _notice,_ so I suppose it’s forgivable...”

“Is it _his?”_ Lucius spat the words like venom, and Draco couldn't help wincing.

There...wasn’t really a good way to answer that.

Draco looked between Harry, who looked uneasy for the first time, and his mother, who seemed _so hopeful,_ and his father’s furious face. Then he dropped his eyes to his plate and said stiffly. “That...is a bit complicated. I’m afraid there’s some uncertainty, in regards to the paternity of the child.”

Narcissa made a questioning sound. “What sort of uncertainty?”

“Yes, Draco. Do tell.” Lucius’ voice was a low, furious hiss and he was standing as well now, arms folded across his chest and glare fierce. “What manner of cock-up have you managed this time?”

And Draco’s temper rose in an instant. He narrowed his eyes and bit out. “The sort that comes from letting three different blokes bugger me in the span of about ten days, actually. Can’t be sure which of them is the father but it’s certainly _one_ of them.” He shrugged as though it didn’t matter to him in the slightest, though his heart was pounding loudly in his ears. “They’re all more than reasonably attractive, anyway, so at least I shouldn’t have to worry about the child’s looks. And none of them are married, so small favors and all.”

“Get out.”

“Wh-what?” Draco gaped at his father. _“Excuse me?”_

But Lucius, it seemed, had more than made up his mind. “I said, _get out._ I’ll not have your perversions under my roof any longer. I ought to have put a stop to it long ago. You’ve disgraced yourself, and you’ve disgraced our family, and you’re not welcome in this house.”

“Lucius...” Narcissa’s voice was weak, and she looked on the verge of collapse. “Lucius, you can’t mean that. He is your _son._ Your _only_ son. More than that, your only _child.”_

“I don’t care.” Lucius retorted coldly. “I’ll not stand for it, not for another minute. You have until morning to pack your things and leave, Draco. After that, the wards will be changed and you’ll no longer have access. To the house, or to the Malfoy accounts.”

 _“What?”_ Draco wheezed out, shoving to his feet, both hands braced on the table as he glared at his father. “That’s unfair! I _saved_ that bloody money. I’ve been overseeing _countless_ investments. You’ve got _no right_ to keep it from me. It’s as much mine as it is yours, dammit!”

Lucius sneered and said. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you went spreading your legs for every man who so much as looked at you while living off _my_ generosity. Let the men who’ve fucked you take care of you, since they’re so terribly fond of your ungrateful arse.”

“Lucius, _please.”_ Narcissa was at his side now, one hand resting on his arm, a desperate look on her face. “Don’t let your temper best you, Lucius. Think about what you’re doing. He could _starve._ You cannot possibly turn our son out onto the streets. You _cannot.”_

Lucius shook off Narcissa’s touch. “I can, and I will. He brought this on himself, with his refusal to marry a suitable witch and behave with the decorum expected of the Malfoy heir. I’ll not be blamed for his poor choices.” When Narcissa made an aggrieved noise, Lucius added almost grudgingly. “If he should marry the man responsible - and if the match is _agreeable_ \- I will reconsider my position.”

“Fuck that.” Harry bit out, and Draco startled because he’d all but forgotten the Gryffindor was present. “You’ve got no right, dictating Draco’s life like that. _None._ He’s having a _child._ It’s hardly the end of the bloody world.” He turned to Draco and added. “Honestly, I’m a bit pleased the baby likely won’t ever know Lucius. Godric knows how _you_ escaped being tainted by him, but at least the baby will as well.”

“Harry, don’t.” Draco said wearily, rubbing at his own forehead as pain started there. “I can’t...I can’t _think_ right now, I just...” He shot his father a frosty look. “Reconsider this, Father. The scandal from turning me out - from putting me on the streets - will be _far_ worse than the scandal attached to me going through a pregnancy with three _very_ eligible bachelors at my side.”

His father’s lips thinned. “I’ve weathered worse than this.”

Draco scoffed. “No, _I_ weathered worse than this. _I_ am the darling of society, and by association the Malfoy name has regained some measure of favor, but never forget that it is _me_ they all adore and curry favor with, not _you._ You didn’t weather a bloody thing. You let _me_ do it.”

“My decision has been made. You have until morning. I suggest you sort out where you’ll be sleeping from now on, Draco. It won’t be here.”

With tears stinging the back of his eyes, Draco hissed. “You _will_ regret this. And when you ask me for forgiveness, I doubt I’ll grant it. You will _never_ see your grandchild. Do you understand me, Father? I will _never_ let you see my child if you do this. Not even if you _beg.”_

Lucius looked away, face a cold mask of fury, and Draco knew there was no point in arguing any further. He shook his head, then turned to Narcissa. “I’ll owl you when I know where I’m staying, Mother. I...it will probably be with Pansy or Blaise, I don’t...I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me. I have friends.”

Lucius snorted. “And if you think either of them will risk the wrath of their parents over associating with a disinherited little _whore_ like you, you’re delusional.”

Before Draco could say anything, Harry was speaking, voice level and cool. “It’s lucky he’s got someone in his life who doesn’t have parents to worry about then, isn’t it?” Draco felt Harry’s presence beside him, then a strong hand was settling on the small of his back. “Come on. Let’s go and get your things, and I’ll help you move them to my place. Then we can both get some rest.”

Draco nodded slowly, feeling a bit numb all of a sudden. Harry turned to Narcissa and added. “Andi knows where to find me. You’re welcome any time.” He then glared at Lucius. “If _you_ come anywhere near my home - or Draco - I’ll personally see to it that you’re arrested.”

“Harry...” Draco murmured, because he was just...done. He was _so done._ And he couldn't stand the thought of being in the Manor for a minute longer than he had to be. Not anymore. “Please. I can’t do this. I just...just take me home. _Please.”_

“Of course.” Harry immediately began leading Draco out of the dining room, and Draco let himself be led.

He’d just throw some clothes in a bag and...and that was it. That was all he needed. Just the bare essentials. He stroked his hand over his belly, thinking to himself that the only _important_ thing was coming with him everywhere these days. Everything and everyone else could go hang.

Lucius Malfoy included.

~*~*~*~

Draco actually wound up bringing _everything_ he personally owned, because Harry had insisted he call some of the Manor’s elves and have them pack and transport everything to his residence. Then Harry had stepped in close, wound his arms around Draco, and Side-Alonged him. They landed in an entryway this time, rather than the bedroom Harry had taken him to when...well, _when._ It...wasn’t a very nice entryway.

It was actually very ugly.

As Harry released him, Draco wrinkled his nose at a troll leg that had been hollowed out and was now holding umbrellas and canes, as though it were some sort of reasonable decor choice. To his right, a staircase disappeared somewhere _up._ The first landing, where the stairs turned to continue on to the next floor, had a large black curtain hanging over the wall. Draco was a bit curious as to what was behind it, but given the troll leg he wasn’t sure it was a healthy sort of curiosity at all. Behind him was what seemed to be the front door, and to the left was a parlour or drawing room of some sort, and ahead of him was a gloomy hallway that led to who knew where. The whole place was dreary, and gave the impression of being a bit damp, though Draco wasn’t sure _why._

Footsteps - high heels on stone, if Draco was any judge - came from the hallway in front of them and Draco had only a minute to wonder who it was before a veritable whirlwind of ginger-haired energy burst into the gloomy hallway, calling out cheerfully. “Home at last, Harry? I was just making some tea and I...oh.”

Ginny Weasley blinked at Draco as she came to an abrupt halt, staring at him in surprise. “I didn’t realize you had company, Harry. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. He’s less _company_ and more _semi-permanent house guest_ at this point, so.” Harry laughed as he stepped past Draco to pull Ginny into a tight hug. “When did you get in? I’ve been stuck at work for the last _week.”_

Ginny hummed thoughtfully, eyes still on Draco. “Yes, Herm told me as much. I’ve been here for...oh, three days or so? Yes, that seems right. Just in time for New Years, though of course _you_ missed all the fun.”

“I usually do.” Harry agreed amicably. “Look, I’m dead on my feet and I’d imagine Draco’s about ready for a lie-down as well, so if you don’t mind fending for yourself until...oh, tomorrow morning sometime, I’d say, we’ll just head upstairs.”

“Of course.” Ginny rolled her eyes, shooing Harry a bit. “Go on, then. But I demand explanations come morning, and don’t think I’ll let them slide any longer than that.”

Harry laughed, then grabbed Draco’s hand and began pulling him up the stairs. Draco went, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do. And also partly because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone with _any_ Weasley, but most especially the one Harry had dated. _Had_ dated? Or _was_ dating? Perhaps their relationship was _open_ or some such thing, and that was why she’d not seemed fazed by Draco’s presence.

After all, she had apparently let herself into Harry’s home and had been staying there without him. She was clearly comfortable - and very welcome - in Harry’s space.

Harry gently pulled Draco up to two flights of stairs, then led him to a bedroom. “This is my room, which you’ve been in before, obviously.” Harry rolled his eyes, as though at himself and his own inanities. “I’m going to be dead to the world for probably about sixteen hours but you’re welcome to explore the house.” He pointed to a door down the other end of the hall, which had been painted a soft blue. “That’s Gin’s room, so I’d suggest you don’t explore _there,_ but the rest of the house is fair game. We’re in London, so if you want to go out you can. We’re also hooked into the Floo Network - Grimmauld Place is the address, if you need back in.”

Draco nodded slowly, unsure if he was relieved Ginny had her own room or not; unsure why he was even worried, given that Harry had declared his intentions towards Draco quite boldly not more than an hour ago.

“You can sleep here...” Harry nodded towards the door to his room, then pointed to one across the hall. “Or else that room’s in fairly reasonable condition. There’s other bedrooms on this floor, and the one below, and the one above, but most of them are in pretty rough shape. As are various parts of the house. I’ve never really taken the time to fix it up proper, though I really should. You’re welcome to take any room you like, and do whatever you like with it. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Oh, and there’s an old house elf - Kreacher - who might react oddly to you. Just ignore him the best you can until I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

“Alright.” Draco agreed quietly. He took a step back, towards the room across the hall, and Harry let him go. Draco paused outside the door, watching as Harry disappeared into his own room. Then, once Harry was gone, he stuck his head in the room.

He found it done in rose-and-cream and, while it wasn’t terrible, he didn’t think he could sleep there. Determined to find a room for himself, Draco trudged off up the hallway. A quick search of the third floor left him with no rooms he thought were suitable, and he stood by the stairs trying to decide if he wanted to go down...or up. In the end, he decided on _up_ first, and trudged wearily up to the top floor. The hallway seemed in worse repair than the one below, and Draco imagined it was because this floor wasn’t used at all anymore. That was fine with Draco. He’d grown up with house elves, but Pansy lived on her own and he’d learned more than a few domestic skills - and spells - while spending time at her flat.

He pushed open a door that held a small plaque on it, reading _R.A.B._ The room inside was very nearly perfect, if dusty and gloomy and disused. It would need a thorough cleaning, of course, and a good deal of the rubbish inside would have to be...well, not _thrown out_ as that was hardly Draco’s place, but moved to one of the other rooms at the very least. But the room itself was _lovely._ The walls, the bed linens and hangings, even the curtains on the windows were all done in Slytherin colors - emerald green and silver splashed across expensive furnishings. True, the furniture had seen better days, but that could be remedied easily enough.

Draco moved to the bed, letting his fingers brush the family crest painted on the wall above it. The single sword in the center of the shield. The twin stars on each of the top corners. The twin dogs flanking the shield entirely. And, of course, the words scrawled beneath the whole thing: _Toujours Pur._

Draco shook his head, deciding he’d have to ask Harry’s permission to paint over the blasted crest. It wasn’t that he had a problem with his family’s history. It was just that he wasn’t sure how long he could bear to sleep directly under the damned thing. He shook his head, turning away from it to survey the bed itself. A few quick spells had the thing free of dust - and anything else that might have been calling it home - and freshened the pillows, and sheets, and duvet. It wasn’t perfect, but it would suffice.

With a quiet sigh, Draco stripped down to his boxers and slid into the large bed. Then, despite the ball of dread in his stomach and the pounding behind his temples, Draco found himself dreaming in short order.

~*~*~*~

When Draco wandered downstairs again, it was early evening and the sky was darkening quickly. Draco was still tired, but more than that he was _hungry._ He’d awoken to find all of his things had been stacked - in trunks and various other luggage and boxes - on one side of the room. He hadn’t dug through much of it - wouldn’t, until he’d finished fixing the room up - but he’d found a pair of soft flannel sleep pants and a large t-shirt he thought might have belonged to one of Pansy’s ex-boyfriends. He wasn’t quite certain how it had ended up among _his_ things, but it would suffice for a trip to the kitchen.

Draco padded quietly down the stairs, until he had nearly reached the entryway he’d arrived in earlier. Curiously, he reached up and tugged aside the curtain hanging on the first landing. Behind it was a portrait of an older woman, who looked stern and miserable but fairly attractive. She had her mouth open and her face twisted with fury, as though she were planning to scream, but her eyes were wide with shock as she stared at him. For a long minute, they simply stared at each other in silence.

Finally, Draco cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just...wasn’t sure what was behind this curtain and I...well. I shouldn’t have looked. It was none of my business. I apologize.”

Draco moved to pull the curtain closed again, when the woman spoke. “Wait!” Draco’s fingers paused an inch from the heavy black material and he looked up at her. She seemed... _uncertain._ “Are you...are you of my blood? You look _so_ familiar...”

“I don’t know who you are.” Draco admitted, though there was something about her that was tickling at his memories. “So I really couldn't say.” Suddenly remembering the crest above his new bed, he added. “If you’re a Black, then yes. My mother is of the Black line.”

The woman was nodding. “Yes, of course. Narcissa. She married Abraxas Malfoy’s boy, Lucius. You look a fair bit like your father, but there’s a bit of your mother in your face.” She smiled suddenly, and it transformed her face so that it was clear she’d once been a great beauty. “I’m your Aunt Walburga. It’s so lovely to see a familial face around here. Besides that little half-breed mutt, I mean.”

Draco scowled. “Do you mean my _cousin,_ Teddy? He’s a child, and a sweet one at that. Far sweeter than I was at that age, certainly. Why in the world does Harry leave a portrait as nasty as _you_ hanging on his wall?”

“We can’t get her down.” Draco jerked around to see Ginny, leaning against a wall at the bottom of the last bit of stairs. “Sirius tried for _ages_ before he died, and Mum kept right on trying all through the year after. When the war was over, we all took turns at it, with Harry. But she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of that thing, back when she was alive, and it won’t come down for anything, so far as we can tell.”

“Clearly you just need someone with the right knowledge.” Draco said, rolling his eyes. He reached up with his wand, tapped the frame, and muttered a simple spell under his breath. Then, he stepped back and _watched._

The frame fell apart, dropping to the floor. The portrait itself slid down next, leaving only the backing piece to the frame, which was what was _actually_ stuck to the wall. Walburga opened her mouth, clearly about to start screaming, but Draco leveled his wand at her and sneered. “I’d mind my tongue if I were you, Aunt. You’d be _ever_ so easy to set in a corner of the attic, perhaps facing a wall. Or we could just...toss you into the fire.”

Ginny was laughing from the entryway even as Walburga’s lips pressed into a thin line, glaring at him furiously. But she held her tongue, and that was all Draco cared about. Shaking his head, he flicked his wand and rolled her portrait up. Then he stomped down the stairs and past Ginny, yanking open the closet door and putting the rolled up painting onto the shelf in there. He’d have to remember to tell Harry what he’d done, but it could wait.

When he glanced back up at the stairs, he sighed and flicked his wand again. “Reparo.” The pieces of the picture frame snapped back together, though of course it was now _empty._ Still, it was a marked improvement and Draco found a strange satisfaction in it. He turned to the still-giggling Ginny and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you could show me to the kitchen? I’m _starving.”_

“You got Walburga off the wall.” Ginny replied with a wide grin as she headed up the hallway. “For that, I’ll cook you dinner myself. What would you like?”

“Depends what you’ve got.” Draco said, following Ginny down some stone steps and into a kitchen that was far more warm and inviting than any other room in the house. “I understand from Harry that you live here?”

“Some of the time.” Ginny agreed. She gestured towards the cold-box and the cabinets. “Poke around and see if there’s anything that tickles your fancy. Whatever you want, I’ll make it.”

Draco nodded, doing just that. As he rifled, he asked. “So if you’re only here sometimes, where are you the rest of the time?”

Ginny leaned back against a counter, smiling in a bemused sort of way as she watched him. Draco tried not to let it bother him. “Training. I’m a Chaser for the Harpies, so I spend a lot of time out-and-about, as training and away games require. But if I’m home, I’m here. Though I do have to spend a few days every six months or so with my parents, or Mum frets. But that’s alright. I don’t mind much.”

“No, I’d imagine not.” Draco murmured, grabbing a few things from the cold box and taking them to the table before fetching himself a plate and a knife as well. “And no need to cook. I’m fine with this.”

Ginny watched in silence as Draco sliced a pickle into four spears, then smeared cream cheese over several thin slices of ham, like the sort one would put on a sandwich. He set a spear of pickle on the edge of a cream cheese covered slice of ham, then proceeded to roll the thing up. “What in the name of Merlin _is that?”_

“No idea.” Draco mumbled around a large mouthful. “But it tastes fucking gorgeous. Want one?”

She looked skeptical, but shrugged. “Oh hell, why not.” She took the one Draco handed her and bit into it, make a surprised sound. “Oh. That’s actually not bad, is it? Bit odd, but yeah. I could eat this.”

Draco smiled, still eating happily. They sat down side-by-side at the long wooden table and Draco tried to pretend Ginny wasn’t watching him as he ate. Finally, around the time he was eating his seventh roll-up, he said. “If you’re going to ask me something, just ask. The staring is a bit much.”

Ginny hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, well. I guess I’m just trying to figure it out, you know? Harry told me months ago that he’d had a night with you - after one of my matches, actually - and that he’d tried to ask you out but you’d made it clear you weren’t interested. And that’s fine, you’re certainly not obligated to _be_ interested. It’s not like he was mad or anything. Disappointed, maybe, that all of his pining and the long-standing crush had resulted in a bit of a shag and nothing else, but he’s tough. It was fine.”

“C-crush?” Draco stammered, rubbing his palms against his thighs before hastily getting to his feet and rifling through the cabinets to find a glass. “That’s ridiculous. Harry didn’t...that he is, he _doesn’t...”_

“Pretty sure I’d know better than you would.” Ginny sounded amused, and Draco tried to ignore her as he poured himself a glass of milk. “Anyway, I just wondered how it’d gone from _that,_ to _this._ You, being here. And apparently _staying_ here, if Harry’s to be believed. It’s just a bit of a leap is all, though it’s Harry’s house so it’s certainly his decision, not mine.”

Draco hesitated for a minute, taking several deep gulps from his glass before rejoining the redhead at the table. He fiddled with the knife for a minute, then decided honesty was probably the way to go. He imagined Harry would tell her everything, anyway. They seemed close. Not to mention, Harry was hardly the sort to go about lying to his friends. Maybe it was better if Draco was the one who said it all. Who laid it out there. He could tell the story how _he_ wanted to.

“My father disowned me.”

Ginny sucked in a startled breath. “What? _Why?”_

Draco let out a mirthless laugh. “He didn’t appreciate me telling him that, not only am I pregnant, but I can’t even name the other father. Though I suppose I was a _bit_ indelicate in how I chose to inform him of the fact that there are three possibilities for said paternity.”

For several heartbeats, there was only silence. Finally, Ginny asked. “Harry might be the father?” Draco nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. “I’d imagine he’s quite pleased about that. He’s always wanted a whole houseful of children.”

“It might not be his.” Draco pointed out, as though he hadn’t already said as much and quite clearly, too. “If it’s not his, then I won’t ever be _able_ to give him a houseful. It’s ridiculous for him to want me when he _knows_ I might not be able to give him what he wants.”

Ginny smiled softly. “I think just one would be alright with him, provided it was with the right person.”

After another pause, she shot Draco a pointed look. _“You_ are the right person here, Draco. It’s been you for so long it’s not even funny. He paid more attention to you than he did to me, back when we tried dating in my fifth year. I couldn't understand it at the time and, honestly, I’m sure he didn’t, either. Looking back, it’s fairly obvious why I couldn't quite hold his attention.” She smiled, a bit wistfully but with no trace of bitterness. “It took a few years, for Harry and I to get to a place where we could be friends. Mostly my fault, really. But we’re there now and I want his happiness. So I’m going to hope you and he can work it out.”

Draco swallowed hard. “And the scandal? If I’m carrying the child of a wealthy, pureblood family - one descended from a Hogwarts Founder, at that - and I refuse to marry him, it won’t be pretty. Or even if I’m just carrying the child of a well-enough known professional Quidditch player, the papers will _still_ have a field day. Harry will be the laughingstock of the wizarding world, shacking up with a former Death Eater who no longer has a last name, a prestigious family, or a fortune to help mitigate that stain...and one who was impregnated by a _different_ man. What right do I have, to put him through that?”

“Absolutely none.” Ginny said, shrugging when Draco gave her a cross look. “You asked, I answered. If you didn’t want honesty, you shouldn’t have asked a Gryffindor. But it’s true. You’ve no right to put him through that. But then, you _aren’t._ Harry’s making a choice, about wanting to be with you, despite whatever scandal it might or might not cause. You’ve _also_ got no right to take that choice away from him. Not for any reason other than that you don’t actually want to be with him, anyway.”

Draco shrugged. “I...don’t know what I want. I never planned to marry. I never planned on children. This was incredibly unexpected.” He glanced at her and managed a tired smile. “I like the idea of it. Of Harry wanting me, regardless. Of being with him. Raising a family. But I don’t know if I want it for the right reasons.”

“Not sure there’s a wrong reason, really.” Ginny laughed when Draco looked at her like she was mad. “I mean, there are _selfish_ reasons. There are reasons that might not match up with Harry’s reasons. But that doesn’t make them wrong. I think the only way they could be _wrong_ reasons is if you lie to him about what they are. If you’re honest about it, and he agrees to be with you knowing everything, then that’s between the two of you, isn’t it?”

“You’re strangely clever.” Draco finally said, his smile a little more genuine. “Not book-smart, necessarily, though I suppose you might be that as well. Just...you look at things differently. I think I like it.”

Ginny smirked, nudging him gently with her shoulder against his. “Yeah, well. I’ve grown up around a lot of interesting people. Not to mention I was possessed by Voldemort when I was eleven. Gives me an interesting view of the world.” She looked at him with soft eyes and added. “You seem like you could be a good person. So long as you don’t deliberately hurt Harry, you can consider me a friend.”

Feeling oddly warmed by that promise, Draco ducked his head. “Thank you. I’m afraid I’m going to find those in short supply soon enough, so it means a lot.”

Ginny nudged his side again. “Go on back to bed, then. Mum always says there’s nothing more exhausting than making another human being, so I’m certain you need the rest. I’ll see you in the morning, I’d imagine.”

And as Draco was already yawning, he did as she suggested. Sleep seemed wise. Morning - and whatever the future held - would come soon enough. He might as well meet it well-rested.

~*~*~*~

Draco had been at Grimmauld Place for several days before he left the house. Settling into a routine there wasn’t hard. Harry spent long hours at work, which wasn’t uncommon for an Auror. Ginny was often training, or else out doing goodness-knew-what with goodness-knew-who. So it was mostly Draco, and he’d been granted carte blanche to do what he liked - not just with his room, but with the house as a whole. He had started in the bedroom he’d chosen, of course, because he had to sleep there. But the library was in desperate need of attention, as was...well, the whole damned house, really.

And after three days, Draco knew he was going to need help whipping it into shape. More than that, he was going to need _funds._ And while he wasn’t too keen on asking, he knew he didn’t have much choice. So on his fourth day there, he cleared his throat pointedly over breakfast and drew Harry’s attention.

“What’s up?” Harry asked around a mouthful of bacon. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine.” Draco smiled, though he thought it was probably more of a grimace. “It’s just, I’ve been working on fixing up a bit of the house - as a thank you, for letting me stay here, and because it really does need it, of course - and it’s just...that is to say, I _need..._ or rather, it’s that I don’t actually _have_ any...”

Draco trailed off uncertainly and, after a moment, Harry’s confused look cleared and he looked amused. “Oh, of course. You need money. That’s not a problem. I’ll stop by Gringotts before I go into the office and authorize you for access to the Black Vault - seven hundred and eleven, by the way. You’re a blood relation, so it should be easy enough to do. Use as much as you’d like, for whatever you want or need. I never touch it and there’s...well, there’s rather a lot of it.”

“I...” Draco blinked, then frowned. “Why don’t you use it?”

Harry shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “I don’t need it? I mean, I have my own fortune. And I invested early in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, which turned out to be an _incredibly_ lucrative investment. And I work. So I’ve never _needed_ Sirius’ money and, since I can’t tell what part of it came from his uncle and what part came from the parents who threw him out, I just...I don’t touch _any_ of it. I offered it to Andi for Teddy, but she refused. I did set aside a portion of it for when he’s older, like a trust fund of sorts. But you’ve as much right to the rest of it as he does. You’re both Blacks.”

Draco could feel tears stinging the back of his eyes and silently cursed his hormones. Harry was offering him money not because he felt sorry for Draco - nor out of some skewed sense of obligation for the baby growing inside him, or in an attempt to _woo_ Draco - but because he felt the money was, in some way, rightfully Draco’s. Because it was his family’s money, and therefore it made _sense_ to Harry to offer it to him. This wasn’t money Draco would _owe_ Harry for, or need to find some way to pay back. This was money that Harry was telling him was _his,_ because it came from those he shared blood with. And maybe he’d never met Sirius - or Walburga, or her husband, or her other son, whose room Draco now slept in - but they were _his family._ Cousins - and aunt and uncle - to Draco’s own mother. And, in another world, the money might have passed to Draco directly, anyway.

“Thank you.” He finally managed, his throat thick with emotion. “I might go out today. To pick up a few things. I’ll try to be home for dinner.”

Harry reached out and cupped Draco’s cheek gently, his thumb brushing lightly under Draco’s eye and catching a stray tear. “You’re welcome to come and go as you please, Draco. I’m not holding you prisoner. And you’re welcome to have company over. When I invited you to live here, I meant it in every sense of the word. This is as much your home as it is mine and Ginny’s. You’re not a _guest._ I hope you understand the difference.”

Draco nodded slowly. Harry hummed consideringly, like he wasn’t sure if he believed Draco, but then he glanced at the clock and sighed. “I’ve got to head out, if I want to stop at Gringotts. I’ll see you later.”

As Harry stood and prepared to leave, Draco called out. “Harry!” The brunette turned and raised an eyebrow. “I just...I have an appointment. With the Healer. Next week, on the fifteenth. I thought...if you wanted to come, I mean...well, you might need to take off work. It’s at 10.”

“I’ll be there.” Harry promised, then turned on his heel and vanished with a pop.

Draco shook his head, a bit bemused. After a minute, he pushed to his feet and headed upstairs to get dressed. If he was going to go out, he might as well get an early start.

~*~*~*~

Draco heard the front door open and startled a little. He jumped to his feet, smiling a little anxiously when Ginny walked into the parlour. “Holy changes, Draco! It looks _amazing_ in here.” She was surveying the room, done in what he liked to think of as _autumn tones,_ with obvious approval and Draco couldn't resist the urge to preen. Then her gaze landed on the occupied couch and she narrowed her eyes, biting out. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

“I...was told I could have guests.” Draco looked between Ginny and the sofa uncertainly.

“Guests, sure. _Smith?_ Not so much welcome in Harry’s house.” Ginny explained, tapping her wand against her thigh in a way that seemed a bit threatening.

Zach smirked, looking utterly relaxed as he lounged on the couch. “Now, now, Ginny. No need to be so hostile. I’m just checking up on Draco, that’s all. Getting all the details for tomorrow’s Healer appointment. I’m certain you understand.”

Draco cringed as Ginny whirled around to gape at him. “You didn’t tell me that _he_ was one of the potential fathers!” She hissed the words, looking furious. “Does Harry know?”

And _that_ spiked Draco’s temper. “Of course he knows.” Draco snarled back at her. “I’ve been completely honest about _everything._ I told all three of them _together,_ in fact.”

A soft clearing of a throat had Ginny whipping around to see Roger Davies. “Ah, sorry. I had to use the loo. A pleasure to see you, Ginny, as always.”

“Oh, hello Roger.” Ginny stepped to the side to let him into the parlour, then quirked an eyebrow at Draco and added coolly. “Well, two out of three aren’t assholes, so that’s something, anyway. Though considering you shagged Smith, I still think your overall taste leaves something to be desired.”

“You know, I have to wonder why no one seems to like you.” Roger directed the words at Zach, seeming genuinely curious. “Harry didn’t react well to you, either.”

Zach’s smirk deepened. “We didn’t get along in school, me and Potter and his little friends. I’d imagine he’s never gotten over me questioning his authority during our fifth year.”

Ginny laughed harshly. “More like we’ll never forgive you for _fleeing_ rather than fighting, during the Final Battle. We needed _every wand_ and you took yours and ran. We Gryffindors don’t take kindly to cowardice.”

Zach’s eyes went to Draco and Ginny added immediately. “Oh don’t even _go there._ Draco did things that were _beyond_ bravery during the war. He saved Harry’s life, and Hermione’s, and my brother’s. Not to mention Luna, Dean, Ollivander...and at great personal risk to himself. He faced unfathomable choices, and was in a tenuous position for _years,_ but when push came to shove he _was_ brave. You’ll not stand in front of me and cast stones at him. I won’t stand for it.”

“Ginny, please.” Draco whispered, cheeks flushed with mortified color. He turned and frowned at Zach. “I’m going to ask you to leave. You know when tomorrow’s appointment is, but if you come I expect you to behave. If you try to bait Harry _at all,_ it’ll be the last one you’re invited to attend. The situation is convoluted enough as it is without you making things worse by being an arsekettle.”

Zach pushed to his feet even as he rolled his eyes. “Very well. Side with Saint Potter and his troupe of misfits. It’s clear you’ve cast your lot with them already, what with you choosing to live with Potter despite knowing you might be carrying someone else’s child. But regardless of whatever entanglements you develop, if that child is _mine_ , I’ll have a say in the raising of it. One way or the other.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and stepped in close to Zach. “Remember which of us was a Slytherin, Zach. You might have done well in my House, but you chose your blood over your personality. Don’t go thinking you can match me now, after all this time. _My child_ will be raised how I see fit. And if you ever threaten me again, I don’t care if you _are_ the father. I’ll personally ensure you never spend a single unsupervised second with my child.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, then Zach was laughing softly. “Merlin but you’re really gone on Potter, aren’t you? Very well then. I suppose I can play nice, for your sake.” He shook his head, then leaned in to press a light kiss to Draco’s cheek. “I wish you all the best with him, if it’s truly what you want. But if it’s mine, my offer of marriage will stand for as long as I’m unmarried. Just in case you change your mind.”

Draco snorted, then pushed at Zach, but affectionately. “Get out, before Harry comes home and sees you and gets into a snit. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Zach was gone, Roger spoke up. “You two have an odd relationship, don’t you?”

“I suppose so.” Draco admitted, sinking down onto the couch Zach had vacated. “I’ve known Zach for the whole of my life. We grew up together and were nearly inseparable until Hogwarts. He chose his family’s House over the one he belonged in, and I was furious with him for quite some time. Descendant of Helga or not, Zach was a Slytherin at his core. But he wouldn’t apologize, and I took a number of years to forgive him for what I saw as a betrayal of our friendship.”

Shaking his head with a wry smile, Draco said. “I understand now, of course. And we’ve long since mended that bridge. But it changed things between us, and Zach changed a fair bit in the years we spent apart. As, I would imagine, did I. But we understand each other and that’s what matters.”

“Would you have married him?” Ginny asked it softly, still lounging in the doorway. “If not for Harry, I mean, and if the child were his.”

“Absolutely.” Draco didn’t hesitate to answer. “I don’t know how it would have worked out, or how happy I would have been. But I would have married him, because we could have children together and our families - for the most part, anyway - would have approved. And because I know him, and I understand him, and I would at least have been on even ground that way. But that’s in another universe, you understand. One where I don’t have Harry as an option. One where no one’s offered me a chance for a _real_ happy ending.”

“Well.” Roger seemed amused. “I suppose it’s a relief to know you’re in good hands, regardless of who fathered the child. I like you Draco, and you’re obviously my type physically, but I don’t know that romantic feelings would ever be in the cards for us. If it’s mine, I’d like to be involved still. Not all of the time, as I’m happy to leave that to you and Harry, but for holidays and birthdays and such. If that’s alright with you.”

Draco’s lips curved up into a small smile. “Of course. I appreciate that you’re being so...understanding. This thing with Harry is new, for me. Not so much for him, apparently, but I’m still sorting out my feelings for him and the whole situation. It’s a relief that I don’t have everyone fighting about it at the same time.” He glanced at Ginny and added. “I’m trying with him, because it feels like it could be good. Better, even. Like it could be _everything._ So I’m trying, even if it’s got the potential to be harder than a relationship should be.”

“Nothing easy is ever worth keeping.” Roger advised. “I’ll see you at tomorrow’s appointment, Draco. Try not to stress yourself out between now and then. I’m sure everything will work out as it’s meant to.”

Ginny followed Roger out of the parlour, and Draco could dimly hear them talking in the entryway. He didn’t bother straining his ears to try to catch the words. If they were talking about him, he didn’t want to hear it. And if they weren’t, then it was none of his business and was probably boring, anyway. Instead, he closed his eyes and laid down on the couch, stretching out across the length of it. He pressed his palms to either side of his burgeoning belly, wondering when he’d start feeling movement inside. Soon, he hoped. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever thought he wanted, but now that it was a possibility, he found himself _craving_ it.

“Soon, sweetling.” He murmured to his belly. “Soon, you’ll be big enough for me to feel and then, one day, you’ll be big enough for me to _hold._ And won’t that be a wonder, darling. Won’t that be perfect.”

There was no answer, of course, but Draco was okay with that. It had been a rhetorical question, anyway.

~*~*~*~

Draco stepped out of the floo at St Mungo’s with his head high, refusing to show any of the uncertainty or fear or nerves that were crowding his stomach with butterflies and ice in equal measure. A few heads turned towards him, but only a few. Which Draco no doubt owed to the fact that the Prophet had yet to catch wind of his predicament, in any way. Not the baby - as he’d been careful about what he wore the handful of times he’d gone out in public, and cast a _small_ Notice-Me-Not charm on his stomach as well. And not that he’d been put out on his arse by his father and disowned to boot - because Draco wasn’t advertising it just yet and apparently Lucius wasn’t either, which was no doubt Narcissa’s doing. So the few people who took immediate notice of him seemed surprised by his belly which was, for once, on full display.

Which wasn’t to say it wasn’t _covered,_ because Draco was certainly wearing a shirt. It was January, for goodness’ sake. But the sweater wasn’t large enough to hide the ever-growing swell of his stomach and he’d not cast a charm to keep eyes away from it. The _reason_ he’d not cast a charm stepped out of the floo behind him and Draco felt _more_ eyes on them seconds after Harry’s hand settled on the small of his back. It was an oddly intimate touch, and Draco had to tamp down on the urge to jerk away from it. That would only draw _more_ attention, which was the very last thing Draco wanted.

Intent on ignoring the _many_ eyes he could feel on him, Draco immediately nodded at the lift. “Come on, then. Best not to be late.”

Harry kept pace easily as Draco led the way into the lift, pressed the necessary button, and then led Harry to the correct waiting room when they reached the antenatal and perinatal section of the hospital. Draco headed immediately for the receptionist, smiling as charmingly as he could manage. “Appointment with Healer Jameson, under Malfoy.”

The woman’s eyes were stuck on Harry as she nodded. “Ah, yes. Right. Draco Malfoy, ten o’clock. Just...there’s a little paperwork to do, regarding symptoms and medical history and such, so just...fill that out and give it to the Mediwitch when she calls your name.”

With her eyes still glued to Harry, she held out a clipboard to Draco. He took it with a frown, because _rude._ Then he stomped across the waiting room, only slightly mollified by the fact that Harry stayed with him every step of the way and sat right next to him.

“I hate when they do that.”

Draco looked up from the paperwork, confused. “When who does what?”

“When they _stare.”_ Harry muttered, and he was scowling rather fiercely. “Like I’m public property delivered up for their consumption, as opposed to an actual person who might enjoy a bit of privacy now and again.”

Draco’s face softened into a smile and he nudged Harry’s side lightly with his elbow. “Settle down, now. Pretty sure that stare was more about you being in an antenatal healer’s office _with me_ of all folks, as opposed to a general _oh goodness, it’s the savior_ sort of stare, after all.”

“S’pose so.” Harry sighed, slumping down a bit in the hideously uncomfortable waiting room chair. “Still don’t like it much, but I’ll deal with it.” He flicked those too-green eyes over to Draco and one corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile as he added lowly. “Worth it, you know?”

Draco hadn’t filled in more than a couple of questions when Zach walked in. Harry tensed, his mouth compressing into a thin line, and Draco shot him a pleading look. “Please don’t. He’s said he won’t interfere with _us,_ even if it’s his, so just... _please._ I don’t need the added stress of you two fighting.”

Harry immediately slumped back down, looking guilty this time. “Sorry. I just...I _really_ don’t like him. But that’s got nothing to do with this, or us, or the situation. So I’ll do my best to leave it at the door, I promise.”

Zach sat down on the other side of Draco after leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Morning, pet. How are you and the little one doing today?”

“We’re both fine, Zach.” Draco went back to filling in the questions he could, frowning at the section devoted entirely to the medical history of the baby’s _other father._ “I’m going to need to get copies of this bit, I think, and have each of you fill one out. Just so Healer Jameson can be prepared for all the possibilities, medically speaking. I didn’t realize this was going to be so...”

“Complicated?”

Draco looked up, smiling slightly. “Yes, I do believe that’s the word I was going for. Hello, Roger.”

“Lovely to see you, Draco. As always.” Roger sat on the other side of Harry, nodding to him and Zach. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Harry and Zach both offered greetings of their own, though not to each other, Draco noted. Which was fine. If the only way they could manage civility was by ignoring each other, Draco was all for it. As it was, he did his best to tune all three men out as he focused on his paperwork.

It wasn’t until he heard a female voice say his name that he looked up at all, to see Sally-Ann - the Hufflepuff Mediwitch from his last visit - waving him over from the door leading into to the exam rooms. “Well, that’s us, then, isn’t it?” He murmured, pushing himself to his feet.

Harry’s hand was on his back again, the Auror a solid presence at his side. He felt more than saw Zach and Roger fall into step behind them and prayed to every deity he could think of that he wasn’t blushing as they drew up in front of Sally.

“Well...” She blinked in surprise at all of them, then turned to Draco with a raised eyebrow. “And here I thought you’d be my most interesting patient because you’re _male.”_

“Oh I’m interesting for a lot of reasons, I’ve no doubt about that.” Draco laughed, feeling the same immediate ease with her that he’d felt at his last appointment. “I know I need to answer some questions about this, but if we could do it somewhere a _bit_ more private, that would be lovely.”

Sally smiled and turned to lead the way. “Of course. This way, then.”

Once they were in the room, Sally nodded towards the two chairs and the exam bed, which had a pastel blue gown on it. “To the waist, like the last time, Draco. And I’ll fetch another chair in for you. Give me two ticks and I’ll be back to check your vitals and all that.”

She closed the door behind her and Draco pulled his sweater and undershirt off in one go. He heard a series of soft gasps and turned to scowl at the others. “What? It’s not like you lot don’t _know_ I’m up the duff.”

“Sorry.” Roger murmured, eyes glued to the pale curve of Draco’s belly. “I’ve just...never actually seen a pregnant person. You know, without a shirt on.”

“What he _means_ is, it’s one thing to know and another thing entirely to _see.”_ Zach was rolling his eyes, but he too seemed unable to look away from Draco’s belly. “You’re showing rather more than I was expecting, somehow. It’s just rather a lot to take in, I think.”

Draco flicked his eyes to Harry. Harry, who seemed unable to look at _just_ Draco’s belly, though it was certainly one of the things Harry was looking at. But he was _also_ looking at the rest of Draco. His arms, and his hips, and his chest, and his legs which were still covered by his trousers. It was sort of flattering, actually, how Harry seemed interested in seeing _all_ of him, rather than just being interested in the child growing inside him the way the other two were. Which Draco figured was reasonable and to be expected, since Harry had actually wanted a relationship the night they’d slept together, while the other two had been nothing more than fleeting moments of lust. Well, there was friendship of a degree with Zach, but that was a far cry from a _romantic_ entanglement.

Still, it was Harry’s stare which unnerved Draco and had him reaching for the gown. He tugged it on, then boosted himself up onto the table as gracefully as he could. Which was, honestly, not very. He wasn’t overly large yet, despite what the dramatic reactions of his companions implied, but it was enough to throw off his balance; his center of gravity. It made him feel ungainly; clumsy, even. Harry was at his side in an instant while Roger and Zach settled themselves into the two available chairs, which Draco was okay with. And again, it just reaffirmed what he already _knew._

Roger and Zach were there for the baby. Harry was there for _Draco._

There was a soft knock on the door, then Sally stuck her head in. When she saw that Draco was gowned and on the bed, she opened the door and carried a chair in. “Here you go, Harry. In case you want to sit.” She smiled at Harry in a way that spoke of easy friendship even as she closed the door behind herself.

Her eyes shifted to the other two men and she smiled politely as she added. “Hello, Zach. And...I’m sorry, you look vaguely familiar but I’m not getting a name to go with the face.”

“Roger Davies.” Roger stood and shook her hand before sitting back down next to Zach. “I was a few years ahead of you and in Ravenclaw, so it’s no wonder you don’t remember me.”

“And you never were one for Quidditch.” Zach added, wiggling his fingers at his former House-mate in a way that seemed vaguely condescending. “Hello, Sally. Lovely to see you again.”

Sally stared at him for a moment, then turned to Draco with a _much_ warmer smile. “How are you feeling today, Draco? Any worries or new symptoms? Questions?”

Draco shook his head. Taking him at his word, Sally swiftly got all of his vitals and his weight and poked a bit at his belly. “Alright, well. I’ll let Mitch know you’re ready for him.” She flicked her eyes to the other occupants of the room, then looked back at Draco. “Good luck with this. Seems like you might need it.”

She left the room and Draco couldn't help it; he dissolved into a fit of nervous laughter. He was still giggling - and feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes - when Healer Jameson came into the room a few minutes later. He looked over everyone, then turned to Draco - who was still snickering a bit - and nodded sagely. “I completely understand your reaction to learning the conception time-frame now.”

And that just sent Draco right back into full-on laughter.

“Oh dear...” Harry murmured next to him, sounding concerned. “He, uh...he’s been doing that for a few minutes. I don’t really know why.”

“Nerves, I’d imagine.” Healer Jameson said, seeming utterly calm about the whole thing. “It’s not uncommon in the least, I assure you.” He smiled as Zach and Roger joined Harry beside the bed. “I’m Mitchell Jameson, and I’m Draco’s antenatal Healer. I’d imagine you’re the possible fathers, yes?”

Everyone gave their names, polite greetings all around, and Draco finally managed to get control of himself though he was hiccoughing softly. “Sorry.” He said with a rueful smile. “Don’t know what came over me.”

Jameson smiled benignly. “As I said before, probably nerves. And hormones, of course. Has the nausea stopped yet? Energy and appetite back up?”

“Yes to all of the above, though I do still need a nap some days.” Draco agreed, lying back when Jameson gestured for him to do so. “And you were right about me starting to show. And the soreness in my belly, and the headaches, and the mood swings.”

“Nothing in the world is quite as difficult as making a new life, Draco.” Jameson said, gently lifting the gown so he could get to Draco’s belly. “But your weight seems good and Sally said you’re not reporting anything unusual or worrying, so you seem to be doing an admirable job of it.”

Draco laughed again, but softly this time; fondly. “Well, that’s good. I’d hate to bollocks this up, you know? Sort of an important job and all, making a baby. Little tyke’s counting on me to do it right, I’d imagine.”

Jameson brandished his wand slightly and raised an eyebrow at Draco. “Are the potential fathers interested in hearing the heartbeat and, perhaps, getting a little peek at the baby? We can even try to get a gender, though it _might_ be too soon to tell and it’s all about position with these things.”

_“Yes!”_

This time, Jameson laughed at the enthusiastic chorus of agreement from the other three men. “Sorry.” Draco said, but he was smiling widely. “They seem to be a _bit_ excited about the whole deal. Which is a better reaction than some of the other possibilities, anyway. But I think a bit of a look-and-listen wouldn’t be a bad idea, given how that’s a big part of why we’ve got such a crowd in here just now.”

Jameson cast immediately and the rapid, fluttering _whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump_ sound that Draco remembered so well filled the room. It was a lovely sound. The loveliest sound in the world, in fact, at least in Draco’s opinion. That sound was a tiny heart beating away in the warm shelter of Draco’s body. That sound was a new life. He looked around and saw Roger and Zach and Harry’s awed faces, all of them wrapped up in the moment and the shining possibility that the baby was _theirs._ And then Harry’s eyes shifted to meet Draco’s and there, in that impossible green, was a love so great it was terrifying to Draco. Because he had a feeling it wasn’t _just_ for the baby growing inside of him; not at all.

At least some of that emotion - deep and strong and intense as it was - was for _him._ And Draco wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it.

~*~*~*~

“Oh bugger.”

Two ginger heads turned towards him and Draco felt his face flushing. Ginny was grinning at him, and the other...well, if there was one thing Draco didn’t particularly fancy seeing after a long day and right before he was meant to be eating dinner, it was the scowling face of one Ronald Weasley.

“What’s got you in such a fine state, then?” Ginny asked as she turned to grab a glass from the cabinet and then the milk from the fridge. Draco obligingly sat down at the table as she grabbed him some of the lemon cookies he’d taken a liking to the last few days as well. “You left in a proper enough mood this morning. Did things go poorly at the appointment or...?”

Draco took the cookies and milk with a tired but grateful smile and shook his head. “No, things went fine. It seems everything is going on as it should with both the Half-Bit and myself. No fighting amongst the menfolk or anything, either, and I got a charm up as soon as Harry went off to work after the appointment.”

“So what’s got you into a snit then?” Ginny asked, taking the seat next to him and stealing one of the cookies, which Draco allowed because she _had_ fetched them for him, after all. “Bad luck at the shops? Not got the sort of paper you wanted for the walls in the morning room, or the right fabric for the chairs in the library?”

“Stop making fun of me, you bint.” Draco laughed, tipping himself sideways enough to rest his head on her shoulder. “I’m just exhausted, and I wasn’t expecting to have _company_ is all.”

Ginny turned her head to look at her brother, who was staring at them in bewilderment, then laughed. “Oh, Ron’s hardly _company._ He’s just here for a meal and a bit of time with Harry is all. Honestly, you’re lucky he’s not been by before this, but Harry told him he had to keep away until he was sure he could behave like a rational adult about the whole thing. Also, you know you’ve left the charm on, right? Best take it off before Harry comes in. You know he doesn’t like it.”

Draco groaned, but obligingly flicked his wand and let the charm concealing his belly dissipate. “Don’t remind me. I forgot a few days ago and he about lost his head when he came in. Said it freaks him right out, not being able to see the Half-Bit right off and from clear across the room. Makes him _worry_ or some such.”

“Makes sense, I s’pose.” Ginny said, sighing softly. “He’s lost so much; so many people. He’s bound to worry about losing you two, considering.”

Draco said nothing, but suddenly Ron was clearing his throat. “Look, Malfoy, I don’t really _get_ this whole situation, but I understand you’re with Harry or whatever. And as long as he’s happy, that’s good enough for me. But if you hurt him...”

“If I hurt him, it won’t be on purpose. And even if it _is,_ it will be between us.” Draco replied, letting his eyes close as he continued to lean against Ginny. “I’d thank you kindly to stay the hell out of my relationship with Harry and I’d imagine he feels much the same. We’re both grown men and can handle our own bruised feelings and broken hearts, should it come to that. No need for input from the peanut gallery.”

“He’s my best mate.” Ron retorted and Draco imagined his freckled face was getting quite red, if the sharp tone of voice and his own memory of Ron’s temper were anything to go by. “If someone hurts him, I’ve got a duty to step up and do something about it.”

Draco snorted, opening one eye long enough to give Ron a disdainful look before he closed it again. “That’s a load of bollocks. I mean, sure, if somebody in a pub decks him then it’s your job as best mate to step in and trade blows with the guy. And if, say, I tried to murder him or stab him or set the house on fire, then you’d have some level of obligation to bring things to fisticuffs or a duel or what have you. But if Harry and I fight, or things don’t work out between us, then that’s none of your bloody business. Your best mate duties in that instance are to get him drunk and possibly laid and listen while he cries into his damned firewhiskey, not go after the other person involved in the broken relationship.”

“He’s got a point, Ron.”

Draco sat up immediately, turning to stare at the doorway in shock. “What?” Harry asked, a small smile on his lips as he crossed the kitchen. “You do. I don’t need my friends to be involved in my relationships, whether they end poorly or not.”

“You’re just...home early.” Draco said, more than a little surprised. “I mean, you went in late this morning and usually that means you’re _home_ late. I figured you’d be at least another couple of hours.”

“Nope.” Harry leaned down, rubbing his nose against Draco’s before brushing their lips together. It was about as intimate as they’d gotten since _that night,_ and Draco wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the slow-going or incredibly frustrated by it. “I wouldn’t have gone in at all today but there was a meeting and I had some paperwork to catch up on. I left as soon as all of that was done.”

“Oh.” Draco breathed the word against Harry’s lips, tipping his chin up to press his mouth a little more firmly against Harry’s with a pleased little hum. “I’m glad you’re home. I wanted to ask if it was okay to have the baby shower here. Pansy’s eager to start planning and she wants to know if she needs to find someplace have it.”

“S’fine.” Harry murmured, and Draco was a little surprised when he was kissed _again_ because Harry hadn’t been this affectionate before. Again, not counting _that night._ “Make sure you let me know when. Like, a dozen times, at least. Otherwise I’ll forget.”

Draco jumped when Ginny kicked him under the table, albeit not hard. He turned to raise an eyebrow at her and she pouted at him. “How come _Pansy_ gets to plan the baby shower?”

“Because she’s a party planner.” Draco said, utterly exasperated. “As in, that is quite literally what the woman does for a living. She _plans parties._ You’re welcome to get together with her and give suggestions, as she’s always open to input. But it seemed to make the most sense to let the professional handle the bulk of it.”

“I didn’t know she was a party planner.” Harry said, and Draco watched with amused fondness as the Auror started pulling things out to make dinner. He loved watching Harry cook. It was always a mix of chaos and precision and it probably shouldn’t have worked but it somehow did; the food was always amazing. “What’s Blaise do, then?”

“Zabini is a professional slut.”

There was a pause, then Harry’s voice - tight and angry - cut through the kitchen. “If you’re not going to act civilized, Ron, you can _piss off.”_

For a moment after that, there was a tense silence in the room. Then, Draco began to laugh. He tried not to; he _really_ did. It was just...so... _funny._

“Oh dear.” Ginny murmured, stroking her fingers soothingly over Draco’s hair as he laid his head on his arms, folded on the table in front of him, and laughed so hard he was shaking, tears brimming over from the force of it. “I think he’s broken, Harry.”

“He did this earlier, too.” Harry sounded worried, and that cut through a little of Draco’s amusement, leaving him hiccoughing between bursts of uncontrollable giggling. “It passed on its own and Healer Jameson said it was normal, but...”

Draco managed several deep, shuddering breaths and then looked up, a wide grin on his face and the softest look on his face that anyone present had ever seen Draco wear. “Sorry. It’s just...Weasley - Ron, I mean - wasn’t actually being rude. Or, I mean...I suppose he could have been more _tactful_ about it, but still. He was really just answering your question and you went all _Savior_ on him, trying to protect my friend’s honor and it was just...”

There was another little burst of giggles that Draco clamped down on as fast as he could, before he cleared his throat and added. “It was sweet, really. But also very amusing.”

“Wait, are you saying Zabini is _actually_ a...a...”

Ginny trailed off and Ron snorted. “A professional slut, I told you. Not like it’s some big secret or anything. At least, I don’t _think_ it’s a secret.”

“If _you_ know, it’s not a secret.” Draco pointed out, rolling his eyes.

Harry made a confused little sound in the back of his throat, then asked. “Wait, so...you’re telling me that your best friend is a, what? A rentboy? An escort? A...a bloody _prozzie?”_

“He’s not a prostitute. Sweet Salazar, Harry, you’re really too much.” Draco snorted again, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head at Harry. “Blaise just...look, he’s made it a point to make nice with some fairly wealthy folks. Some of his _friends_ are men, and some are women, and sometimes it’s a couple. But they like Blaise, and they enjoy spoiling him.”

When Harry just kept staring at him, Draco shrugged and did his best to explain. “His mother went the route of marrying a succession of wealthy men, but Arabella never did think things through all the way. You can’t marry the next until the last is out of the way, after all. And you can only have so many husbands before getting a new one becomes nearly impossible. So Blaise cut out the unnecessary part. He gives companionship, and affection, and his droll sense of humor. He offers himself, at his most charming and endearing. In exchange, he has a sustainable lifestyle of luxury at the hands of his _clientele_ and no worries about commitment or expectations or pesky visits from Aurors wondering how _this_ spouse died.”

“The owner of the Arrows has a thing with Blaise.” Ginny piped up, and Draco nodded agreeably. “He and his wife have been at a few of my matches with them, and I’ve seen Blaise sandwiched between them more than once. It seems to suit him, that sort of thing.”

Harry shook his head, turning back to fuss with dinner again. “Well, I can’t say I understand it at all but so long as he’s not doing anything illegal or deadly it’s hardly my concern.”

“George thinks it’s hilarious.” Ron said, shrugging when both Draco and Ginny raised eyebrows at him. “Well, he does. Says it’s the first time he’s ever seen a Slytherin’s ambition resolve itself in nice clothes and a posh flat and orgasms for everyone. Always says maybe if more of your lot handled things that way, the world’d be a lot more pleasant of a place. I think he means the orgasms bit, honestly, but you never can tell with George.”

“That’s because George is a prat what thinks with his prick.” Ginny said with the sort of affection Draco imagined only a sibling could manage. Leastways, he’d only ever heard it from those of his friends who _had_ siblings and only when talking about them. “Do you know he’s been running about on Angelina? I think she might actually be done with him over it this time, too.”

Ron hummed noncommittally. “Dunno about her being done, as she was in his office just yesterday and seemed pretty well inclined towards him, prick and all. But yeah, I knew about the running. Don’t think George rightly knows how to be with just Angelina. Not when she was with Fred, first. Not when it happens they came together in grief and George probably won’t ever be able to untangle what he feels for her from that.”

Harry turned his back on whatever he had bubbling away on the stovetop and added softly. “It’s because every time he kisses her, he wonders if she’s seeing _him_ or if she’s seeing _Fred._ And that’s a terrible thing, to wonder if the person you’re kissing is thinking about someone else.”

“Spoken like a man who’s gotten himself involved with a mourning female.” Ginny said. “And I’m not saying you’re wrong about Angelina, but it’s not quite the same thing as when Cho kissed you to try to...I don’t know, forget about Cedric? Or maybe to remember him better? I never understood her, really.”

“I’d imagine it’s worse.” Draco whispered, unsure if he actually wanted to step into _Weasley Family Drama._ But all eyes were on him and he found himself continuing despite his reluctance. “They were bloody identical twins. If she’s managed the last however long she’s been with him without _once_ calling him Fred, I’ll...well, honestly, I’ll call bullshit because there’s no way.

“And...” Draco pushed on, the words spilling out a bit because once he got started on _any_ subject he found it a bit hard to _stop_ talking about it. “And I’m betting that’s when he goes out and pulls someone else. Every time she makes him question why she’s with him - every time she makes him wonder if he’s a substitute; a stand-in; a consolation prize. And he’ll _always_ pull on her because she’ll _always_ slip up from time-to-time, when she’s overworked or half-asleep or absent-minded at all. It’ll slip out and it’ll hurt him every time and he’ll go about hurting her in return because it’s human nature.”

For a moment none of the others spoke. When someone finally did, it was Ron. “Honestly, it makes me sort of hate Angelina a bit. Grieving for Fred on his own is bad enough. Knowing the chick you’ve talked about marrying loved _him_ first, and having her say _his name,_ and never knowing if it’s just because she _can’t_ have him that _you_ have her at all...that’s rough. And if she can’t keep herself together enough to _not_ call him Fred, then she’s got no business dating him.”

Ginny smiled weakly at her brother. “Don’t think that’s our choice to make. Grief does strange things to people, Ron, and George is hardly blameless here. But...but I think I’m hoping they’ll end it for good one of these days. I can’t imagine them making it work when things are so clearly unhealthy between them.”

“Mum’ll have a fit when it happens, though.” Ron pointed out, and Ginny and Harry were both nodding within seconds. “All she can talk about is each of us settling down and giving her grandbabies.” He flicked his eyes to Draco and added with a hint of a smile. “Actually, Malfoy, I s’pose I ought to thank you for getting up the duff as she’s so thrilled about Harry having a kid she’s laid off demanding to know when Hermione and I might have some. Only been married two years but you’d think Hermione was going grey and in danger of being too old for kids, the way Mum carries on.”

“Mothers are funny that way.” Draco said, smiling back because _that_ was something he understood. “If you think yours is bad, you ought to try _mine_ for a day or two. At least yours has your siblings to focus on and at least some of them have given her grandkids to dote on. Mother has only me to pester about it and you’d think every refusal to marry some chit and knock her up was me murdering a potential grandbaby for the way she carries on.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco. “You know, I sort of expected her to visit by now. She seemed so happy when you told her you were pregnant...”

Draco shrugged, feigning as much indifference as he could. “Yes, well. I’d imagine Father’s got something to do with that. Heaven only knows what he threatened her with if she comes to see me. She’ll do what she pleases eventually, mind you. She’ll just take the time to ensure it doesn’t cause her undue duress in the process is all. I expect we’ll see her soon enough.”

“Mum’s also finally laid off trying to get Harry and I back together, so that’s quite nice.” Ginny added, rolling her eyes. “As me saying _repeatedly_ that Harry was out-and-out in love with someone else wasn’t quite a good enough reason for her to give up on that.”

“Molly meant well.” Harry’s words were gentle, but chiding. Draco noted that when Harry turned back to the stove, Ginny rolled her eyes again.

“Mum can mean as much _well_ as she likes. Doesn’t change the fact I told her to _stop_ hinting about us making another go of it whenever you came round, Harry.” Ginny stole another of Draco’s cookies and bit into it rather viciously, looking petulant as she chewed. “Made things that much harder on me, what with trying to get over you at the start of it and all. And even after I was over you good and proper, it still wasn’t easy to hear her going on about how we’d been such a _sweet_ couple.”

Suddenly Ron gasped, eyes comically wide and darting between Draco and Harry with frenetic energy. “Wait, when you told Mum that Harry was in love with someone, did you mean _Malfoy?”_

Ginny shot Ron an exasperated and annoyed look. “Well, _obviously._ Merlin, Ron, can you at least _try_ to keep up? I mean, Harry’s only been arse-over-tit for Draco since _at least_ your lot’s sixth year and you’re supposed to be his best mate. You really ought to’ve picked up on it somewhere along the way.”

“Not like I was advertising it back then.” Harry said over Ron’s aggrieved sound of protest. “Honestly, Gin, if we hadn’t been dating would you’ve picked up on it?”

Ginny shrugged, gesturing to Ron. “Dunno, but _I_ am not your best mate so it’s a bit different, isn’t it? I’m just saying, this shouldn’t have all been a huge surprise. Herm wasn’t shocked, was she?”

Ron huffed in annoyance. “Herm’s _never_ shocked and you know it. That’s not a fair comparison to make. She figures stuff out a billion times faster than anyone else.”

Ginny shrugged again and Draco cleared his throat awkwardly before saying. “Well, _I_ never noticed he had any feelings for me other than suspicion and loathing, and I doubt there were many people who paid him more heed than I did - not back then, anyway - though I wouldn’t have called my interest _friendly._ So maybe you and Granger got it sorted, but I think the rest of us can be forgiven for not having picked up on it.”

Harry made a funny sound, then said. “Ron, set the table for me, this won’t be much longer.” Then he glanced at Ginny - an oddly cold look on his face - and added. “I think we should talk about something else. Like Draco’s appointment with the Healer.”

Ron paused in setting plates and cutlery out, glancing at Draco with curiosity etched across his features. “Did you find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“No.” Draco shook his head slightly. “No, Half-Bit wasn’t in much of a show-and-tell mood, apparently. Little tyke had no interest in being peeked at, I suppose. We’ll try again in another four weeks, to see what we can see. In the meantime, Half-Bit’s healthy and growing as it should be.”

“Ought to start considering names, don’t you think?” Harry asked as he transferred food into serving dishing and sent it floating over to the table. “Can’t keep calling it _the baby_ or _it_ or even _Half-Bit_ forever.”

“Best to find out what I’m having before I start picking names.” Draco said. “No sense in settling in calling it by a name that won’t do in the end. I’d rather wait until I know, one way or the other.”

Draco glanced over and noticed that Harry was frowning at him. Before he could ask why, Harry noticed him looking and the expression smoothed away and Draco decided to put a pin in the whole thing for the moment. He focused instead on the food, and the company. He wound up spending a good amount of time talking about the renovations he’d been making - and the ones he still had planned - and listening to Ron, Ginny, and Harry tell horror stories about the things they’d encountered during their previous stays at Grimmauld Place when the house had been at its absolute _worst._

Ginny had just finished a story about doxies in the curtains and Hermione’s hair being attacked as apparently it was deemed a suitable nest by the doxies, and the dinner things were all cleared away, and Draco felt compelled to ask the room at large a question. “Why didn’t Granger come today?”

“She’s working on a new project and whenever she starts something it sort of consumes her for a while. She’ll come up for air in a couple of weeks, I’d imagine, but until then you’re not likely to see her out and about.” Ron explained, practically beaming with pride. “She’s decided to tackle some of the old inheritance laws this time, actually. Wants to do away with the ones what allow families to disinherit for any old thing with no recourse on the part of the disowned.”

Draco’s eyes went steely in an instant and he turned that sharp, bright gaze on Ron with intent. “Tell her I’d like to consult on this, if she doesn’t mind. I’ve been dealing with investments - a large number of them - pertaining to Malfoy money for the last three years. And the two before that I spent recovering whatever I could of our fortune from various holds and freezes and seizures by the Ministry. I _saved_ that bloody money - what I could, anyway - and then I damned near tripled what I _did_ save. That he can strip it from me with impunity is unconscionable, given he’d not have a knut of it if it weren’t for me.”

“Yeah, Herm said she’d like to talk to you once she’s got some idea of what laws she wants to go after specifically, since Harry telling her what happened is what set her off on this in the first place.” Ron gave Draco a small smile. “I can’t imagine the two of you together having more than a speck of trouble getting things changed how you like. If it comes down to it, the two of you can just talk at the Wizengamot with all your big words until you confuse them into agreeing, I’d think.”

Draco laughed, imagining for a moment the baffled faces of the aged witches and wizards of the Wizengamot as he and Granger rattled on with increasingly difficult vocabulary until they finally ceded to all demands in a desperate bid to make them _shut up._ And then Draco marveled for a moment over laughing at something said by Ron Weasley while seated at Harry Potter’s kitchen table. His life had gotten _very strange_ indeed.

~*~*~*~

Draco wasn’t a fan of having his back up against a wall. Thankfully, it was a position he was highly adept at getting himself out of, on the - increasingly rare - occasions when he found himself there. The smile on his face was faker than a silver snitch, but Draco was positive the reporter and the photographer - who’d shoved a camera in his face while the reporter asked question after question in an attack-style method of interviewing - couldn't tell that. In all honesty, Draco was just grateful he was alone. Well, Blaise was with him but he didn’t count. Especially since he’d wandered off to the other side of the upholstery store the second Draco had been accosted.

“Ms. Brent...” Draco began, voice laced with all of the politeness he could muster.

“Oh please, call me Belinda.” The reporter tittered, leaning in a bit as though she and Draco were old friends telling secrets over tea or wine. “Now, Draco, there’s been some rampant speculation this past week, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Ever since you were seen in an antenatal Healer’s office with not one but _three_ eligible bachelors-”

Draco snarled and the sound made Belinda cut herself off with a quiet gasp. As she stared at Draco in shock, he forced another smile to his lips and spoke in a low - vaguely threatening - tone. “My personal life is truly no one’s business, but suffice it to say that _yes,_ I am with child. And yes, the child belongs to one of the three men who were with me at my appointment. _Which_ of them is, as yet, undetermined. But all three are aware of the situation and there is no ill-will or dispute about any of this. The child will be raised _by me_ regardless of who the sire is, and while all three men have expressed the desire to be a part of the child’s life - should it be theirs - therein lies the extent of their proposed involvement. All of this was mutually decided upon, discussed at length, and entirely amicable. I’m afraid there’s no scandal here at all. Just a few months of uncertainty that will be cleared up as soon as the child is born, at which point all involved parties will disperse or move forward as-planned.”

Behind Draco, someone cleared their throat, drawing not only _his_ attention but Belinda and the photographer’s as well. He whipped around to see another reporter, but this time it was one he knew quite well. A mixture of relief and worry swept through him, because this could either go very well or very, _very_ poorly.

“Draco.” The man inclined his head, a small smirk curving his lips.

“Vash.” Draco replied, returning the nod and giving the other blonde a somewhat friendly smile. “It’s always lovely to see you. How are you?”

“Oh, well enough.” Vash grinned wider, teeth flashing in the store’s gloom. “You know, I heard the most _interesting_ thing the other day. About you living with a certain Savior. That can’t possibly be true now, can it?”

Draco could feel his cheeks flushing; knew his face was heating up. There was nothing to be done about it, though, save to muddle through. “Actually, yes. I’ll be staying with Harry for...well, for the foreseeable future.” Seeing Vash’s dark eyes light up a the prospect of _a good story,_ Draco knew he only had a few moments to spin it the way he wanted before the older man took the tale and ran with it in any direction he saw fit. “I’m afraid Father didn’t take kindly to the news of my pregnancy. Or, more specifically, to the news that Harry might be the father.”

Vash sucked in a startled breath. “Are you serious, Draco? My god, I’d never have thought he’d toss you out. Not given your status in society, and especially not given _Potter’s_ status.”

“Yes, well.” Draco shrugged, but sniffled a little and let tears well up in his eyes. It wasn’t particularly hard; his hormones had him ready to cry at a moment’s notice anyway. “Mother was supportive but Father made his feelings _perfectly_ clear. If Harry hadn’t been so kind, I...well, I don’t know _what_ I would have done.”

Belinda started to speak, but Vash shot her a frosty look. “Back off, Belli. I’m catching up with an old friend and I’m certain neither of us wants your camera - or your _quill_ \- present while we do.”

Belinda shrunk back and Draco wasn’t surprised. Vash was the Daily Prophet’s lead journalist and with good reason, and thus was _not_ someone to be trifled with. He’d been known to destroy more than one career, reputation, and _life_ in much the same fashion his predecessor - Rita Skeeter - had. Though Vash had also made many friends by publishing just enough on the opposite end of things - glowing, uplifting, positive stories that elevated the subject in society’s eyes - to keep himself in favor and out of the hot water that had reduced Rita Skeeter to nothing but a gossip columnist. Belinda glanced at Draco one last time, then turned on her heel and slunk back out of the upholstery store she’d followed Draco and Blaise into, her photographer following quickly.

“Well.” Vash smiled warmly at Draco. “Now that the busybody is gone, what do you say the two of us head over to Sweet Tooth for a cuppa and a pastry while we catch up?”

Draco smiled and nodded towards where Blaise was standing by the counter, holding the fabric he needed for the second drawing room’s divan and wing chairs. “I just need to sign off on payment for my order, then Blaise and I are free. You don’t mind if Blaise joins us, do you? It’s our _one_ day together this week...”

Vash’s smile grew sharper, all teeth and a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Not in the least. You know how dearly fond I am of Blaise. His company is always welcome.”

Draco inclined his head, then swiftly crossed to the counter - and Blaise - to settle his account and fill his friend in on the situation. With Blaise there to help - and distract - Draco had no doubt that the resultant article would say everything he wanted it to. And nothing he _didn’t._

~*~*~*~

Draco flicked his wand and carefully moved a bookshelf several feet to the left. Then he shifted an end table into place and nudged an ottoman where he wanted it. After bending over the coffee table to smooth a doily, he straightened up and reached for the crystal bowl of flowers he wanted to place on top of it. Instead, he swore and stumbled and then sank to the floor with a keening cry as pain shot through his back. It was only once he’d curled into a fetal position - or as much of one as his ever-growing belly allowed for - that the pain started to abate.

By then, it was too late. The door to the study flew open and Harry stood there, wand raised and face flushed as he breathed heavily - no doubt from sprinting the distance from the kitchen; Draco hadn’t even realized Harry was home from work. He was at Draco’s side in an instant, eyes wide and concerned. “What happened?” His palms skimmed carefully over Draco’s trembling form. “Are you hurt, love? Is it the baby? Talk to me.”

Draco stuttered out a weak laugh, turning his head a bit to give Harry a fond smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit of back pain is all. Healer Jameson said to expect that and this is hardly the first muscle spasm I’ve had recently. It’ll pass in a moment or two, I promise.”

Harry made a soft sound that Draco didn’t bother trying to parse the meaning of because the Savior’s hands were on his back, rubbing soothingly. As those strong, capable fingers dug in a bit harder, Draco groaned. He could _feel_ the muscles relaxing under Harry’s touch; could feel the pain ebbing away with each sweeping pass of Harry’s fingers over the sorest parts. It was _heavenly._

“Better?” Harry asked, voice low and a little huskier than usual.

Draco groaned again, stretching a bit under Harry’s ministrations. He shifted so he was mostly on his side but tipped forward towards his belly, giving Harry better access to the aching muscles at the base of his spine. “Much better, _fuck._ Just do that for the next, I don’t know... _forever,_ yeah?”

Harry laughed, but his hands stayed on Draco’s back. He even went so far as to slip them under Draco’s shirt, seeking out skin-to-skin contact. And didn’t _that_ just send a delicious thrill down Draco’s spine. He found himself arching back into the touch, relishing the contact. He hadn’t realized just how touch-starved he was feeling, but then, it had been _months_ since he’d last pulled and before that he’d been getting some with a fair amount of regularity. It was no wonder he was feeling the effects of _not_ having regular physical contact. The fact that it was Harry’s hands on him - Harry, who apparently wanted both him _and_ the child inside him, and who was generous and kind and patient beyond measure - just made it that much more enjoyable.

When Harry’s hands finally stilled and then retreated from his skin, Draco was all but melted into the carpet. He felt loose and pliant and relaxed for the first time since learning he was pregnant. He wasn’t quite sure how Harry had managed to massage away five weeks worth of tension in such a brief span of time, but he wasn’t complaining about it either. His only complaint, really, was that he was lying on a floor - albeit a fairly comfortable one, since Draco had put down a rather plush blue carpet - rather than on his bed. Which meant he couldn't just fall asleep, no matter how much he might want to.

“Want me to carry you up to your room?” Harry murmured, and Draco felt a tiny rush of heated pleasure surge through him when warm lips brushed over the nape of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt.

“That depends.” Draco murmured, turning over slowly so as not to dislodge Harry from where he was leaning over him. “Will you stay with me?”

Draco watched as Harry’s eyes darkened, the pupil expanding in an instant. Seconds later, regret washed over Harry’s face. “Would that I could, love. Unfortunately, I only came home to eat something and check in on you and mostly my time’s up. I have to go back in for another shift.”

“Oh.” Draco was pouting; could feel it and knew it was childish but didn’t have the energy - mental or physical - to stop. “I suppose you’d best go on then, hadn’t you?”

Harry nodded, a bit reluctantly. He leaned down and brushed his lips over Draco’s, murmuring against them. “Rain check on that offer?”

And Draco was touch-starved enough to set aside his disappointment and annoyance, so he agreed. “Yeah, I s’pose so. But only if you take it soon.”

“First chance I get.” Harry promised. He pressed another kiss to Draco’s lips, then leaned down to press one to Draco’s belly. “Take it easy, love. Try not to strain yourself, okay?”

And then Harry was up and out of the room, leaving Draco sprawled across the midnight carpeting, wondering when things had gotten so _damned_ confusing.

~*~*~*~

Draco woke up to find Harry standing next to his bed. Normally, that would have thrilled him as he’d have assumed the other man was interested in that _rain check_ they’d talked about the evening before. But Harry was glaring, and red-faced, and had a newspaper clenched in his hands. None of which boded well for Draco’s morning. He debated saying something, but decided it was best to let Harry say his piece first. It would give him a better idea of what, precisely, he ought to be saying to diffuse the situation. So instead of speaking, he simply sat up and blinked at Harry with sleepy grey eyes, letting the blanket pool at his hips and bare his belly.

It was probably a low blow, but Draco had a feeling Harry wouldn’t be able to stay _too_ mad with the baby on full display and Draco certainly wasn’t above using whatever means he had available.

Sure enough, Harry’s eyes dropped to that firm curve of flesh and his face softened. A moment later, his eyes snapped back up to Draco’s face and his fingers twitched around the crumpled edges of the newspaper. He was glaring again in an instant. “You spoke to a reporter.”

“Yes, I do that fairly often.” Draco kept his voice as soft and even as he could, in direct counterpoint to Harry’s caustic, biting tone. “If you read the Prophet more regularly, you’d surely have noticed. I’m not _you,_ of course, but I am in the headlines with some level of frequency.”

“Dammit, Draco...I don’t like my personal business all over the papers!” Harry’s temper had always been a thing of fierce beauty and Draco had to admit it still was. The former-Gryffindor crumpled the newspaper into a ball, then threw it across the room, toward the door. Seconds later, with a quick flick of his fingers, the paper went up in flames. It was nothing but ash and smoke before it made contact with the door, exploding into a shower of silver-grey powder that rained down on the carpet.

“Well.” Draco murmured, raising an eyebrow at Harry and pursing his lips into a disapproving moue. “That’s just peachy for _you,_ but some of us have _personal business_ that announces itself.” He gestured to his stomach and added coolly. “And thanks to your refusal to allow me to put up a charm at the Healer’s appointment, the general public - _including the press_ \- is quite interested in the whole situation. I cannot help it if I’m accosted in random stores by photographers and reporters, Harry.”

Harry backed away from the bed as Draco’s voice rose steadily with each word, eyes wide as anger melted into wariness. “Nor can I help that the person who stepped in to rescue me from being accosted _also_ happens to be a bloody reporter. And if I was going to have my name - my _personal business,_ as it were - splashed all over the damned place, I thought it best to make sure the story at least said _the truth_ rather than all manner of wild speculation. So _yes,_ Harry. I talked to a reporter. And I will _not_ apologize for it!”

Harry nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I just...it was a long night and the paper surprised me is all.” When Draco said nothing, simply dropped his eyes to the duvet cover, Harry stepped back up to the side of the bed. He cupped Draco’s cheek and, when Draco tipped his face up, leaned down and brushed his lips across Draco’s forehead. “I really am sorry. I just...I hate that the whole bloody world thinks it’s entitled to have an opinion about my life and everything in it. I hate that people are out there making judgments about you, and the baby, and _us.”_

“It would’ve been worse, if I hadn’t talked to Vash.” Draco sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s stomach. Harry immediately began petting his hair and Draco let out a pleased sound. “If I’d not given him something truthful to say, he’d likely have speculated wildly about every person I’ve ever been with and everyone I’ve been seen with in the last six months and it would’ve been disastrous. A controlled press release was the better option, I assure you.”

Harry hummed agreeably and Draco drew back with a yawn. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Oh, er...half-five or so, I think?”

“Oh bloody buggering fuck, I do _not_ need to be awake.” Draco groaned, then gave Harry a considering look. The Auror looked about as exhausted as Draco felt and it wasn’t as though Draco had been sleeping all that well on his own lately, so _maybe..._

Harry noticed him looking and asked warily. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

Draco shrugged. “I was just wondering...or rather, _considering,_ I suppose. If you might like to sleep. Here. With me, I mean.”

He could feel his face flushing and silently cursed his own fair skin, as it made blushing impossible to hide. It was just that he had very rarely actually _slept_ with someone. Spending the night was something one did with a _lover,_ and Draco had always been far too detached to give anyone that title. The occasional weekend-fling was the closest he had ever come, and there was rarely much _sleeping_ to be done during those. So the very idea of actually inviting someone - most especially _Harry Potter_ \- to slip beneath the covers of his bed and fall asleep was actually rather terrifying. It was also a bit thrilling, because Draco had become increasingly fond of Harry during the few weeks he’d been living in Harry’s home and the idea of being close to him - in a way that was far more intimate that Draco typically got with his bed partners - was intriguing. Enticing, even.

For a long, tense moment of silence, neither of them spoke. Draco, for his part, was barely even _breathing._ And then Harry nodded, very slowly. “Yeah, alright. Just...let me get washed and into pajamas. I’ll be back in a tick.”

By the time Harry joined Draco, the blonde had very nearly fallen back asleep. He mumbled a soft greeting, then let out a pleased hum when Harry dragged him backwards, towards the center of the bed and into Harry’s arms. His back was to Harry’s chest, and one of Harry’s arms was draped over his waist, his palm settled on the bare skin of Draco’s belly in a way that was both protective and affectionate. Draco sank swiftly into dreams, surrounded by the strength and heat of the Savior. And while Draco wasn’t much for self-reflection or introspection, he knew that he felt safer than he had in...well, _ever._ And that, for the moment, was more than enough.

~*~*~*~

Draco woke up feeling heated. Not warm; not even hot. _Heated._ Fingers were stroking low on his belly and a hot mouth was pressing wet, sucking kisses to the curve of his shoulder. Draco had on a pair of cotton sleep pants, but even through them - and through the boxers he was certain Harry had been wearing when they’d fallen asleep - he could feel the hard line of Harry’s erection, pressed snugly against his ass. Harry’s hips were moving and Draco didn’t hesitate at all to push back into the thrusts, moaning low in his throat. Harry’s hips stuttered at the sudden counterpressure and he swore lowly in Draco’s ear before nipping at it and nuzzling into Draco’s throat.

“Fuck...” Harry rasped, teeth and tongue teasing Draco’s earlobe and the sensitive spot just behind it. “Please, Draco, can I...?”

He punctuated the question with another roll of his hips and Draco nodded eagerly, his hands already dropping down to shove at the waistband of his pants. “Yes. Hnggghhh...fuck, Harry, _yes.”_

He could feel Harry’s hands moving between them and knew Harry was likely shoving his own boxers out of the way as well. Draco didn’t hesitate; the second his pants were out of the way - kicked off towards the bottom of the bed - he rolled onto his stomach and pushed up onto his knees. He let his forehead rest on his folded arms and eagerly spread his legs, breathless with anticipation. It was true that he’d only been with Harry the once, but it had been good; it had been great. _Better,_ even. And Draco was so ready for them to stop dancing around each other in the wake of everything that had happened since then. Feelings and a relationship were all well and good - if a bit new to Draco - but they didn’t negate the attraction between them or the fact that they already knew each other intimately. He wanted this, desperately. And he was _done_ waiting.

He heard Harry murmur a spell behind him and then a strong, calloused hand was cupping his ass; spreading him open even as slick fingers found his hole. Harry, it seemed, was nearly as impatient as Draco because he pushed in with two fingers rather than one. And Draco couldn't even be annoyed at the presumption because the hell if he hadn’t been opening himself up every day for the last two weeks while thinking about this man. So he keened, and pushed back onto Harry’s fingers, and panted into the sheets because there was nothing else _to_ do, really.

Harry groaned, and then lips were brushing over the small of Draco’s back, soft and damp. He shivered, goosebumps erupting over his skin at the tender touch, so different from the fingers opening him up with a greedy haste that had Draco’s blood sparking in his veins. Harry pressed kisses up the length of Draco’s back, soft and gentle and _achingly_ sweet, even as he pushed another finger into Draco. And Draco opened for him with a groan, body slick and loose and eager. He could feel his cock aching between his thighs; could feel precome dripping down onto the sheets beneath him. Draco knew he must look desperate, and slutty, and he _did. Not. Care._

As Harry’s lips reached the vulnerable place between his shoulder blades, he slipped his fingers free of Draco’s body. Seconds later, Draco could feel the hot, blunt press of Harry’s cock against his slick hole. Then Harry’s mouth was by his ear, asking hoarsely. “Can I? Is... _fuck,_ is this okay?”

“Harry...” Draco groaned, pushing back as much as he could though it did little more than tease him with a slightly firmer pressure at his entrance. “Yes, nggghhh, _yes._ Please, just... _now...”_

And this...this was none of the finesse of the first time - _the last time_ \- they had done this. This wasn’t Draco in control, riding Harry _just so _until they both fell apart. This was Harry _taking,_ wild and eager and greedy for whatever he could get of Draco. This was Draco moaning, and gasping, and drooling onto the sheets he couldn't stop tearing at with sweat-slick hands. This was the driving thrust of Harry’s cock, deeper inside him than Draco thought anyone had ever gone though he wasn’t sure _why_ it felt that way. Wasn’t sure what made the whole thing feel both fast and slow at the same time; torturous and pleasurable all at once. Wasn’t sure why it was so _intense;_ moreso than any encounter he’d ever had.__

__When Draco spilled - hot and slick and _untouched_ \- over the sheets beneath him, he couldn't have said if it had taken seconds or minutes or hours. All he knew was that Harry thrust only a few more times before stilling inside him with a groan that sounded like equal parts pleasure and pain. And then Harry was gentling them both down to the mattress, on the side _not_ soaked in Draco’s release, with Draco once again wrapped protectively in his arms. Harry was murmuring sweet, soothing things against Draco’s hair, pressing kisses to the sweat-dampened strands that Draco knew were probably curling _just a bit._ And the whole thing was lovely in a way Draco had never realized sex _could_ be._ _

__Because neither of them had to leave, and all there was for Draco to do was close his eyes and soak up the way Harry’s hands were stroking over his skin as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm._ _

__All-in-all, it wasn’t the worst way Draco had ever woken up. It might even have been the best._ _

____

~*~*~*~

Draco wandered downstairs eventually - he left Harry, who had fallen back asleep, in his bed - and found Ginny sitting in the kitchen with Hermione Granger and Pansy. Draco paused in the doorway, blinking in surprise for a moment before cautiously entering the room. “Good morning?”

“Afternoon, actually.” Ginny said, turning to look at him with a cat-got-the-cream smile. “Finally managed to get him back into your bed, then?”

Draco’s cheeks suffused with rosy color as Granger choked on her tea and Pansy laughed delightedly. “You are a horrid, _horrid_ girl, did you know?” Draco snarked as he crossed to sit beside Pansy at the long wooden table. “I rather think I despise you.”

“Oh, tish.” Ginny laughed, waving his words away as she pushed to her feet. “You love me, because _I_ am kind enough to fetch food for you.”

Draco hummed agreeably as he watched her pour him a glass of milk - the only thing he wanted to drink these days, besides the occasional glass of water - then asked. “A sandwich, if you don’t mind? And one or two of those pickle-ham-roll-up things I like so much.”

Ginny laughed again, shooting him a fond look as she gave him his milk before crossing to do as he asked. “Is ham alright for the sandwich, then? Or we’ve got roast beef, I think? And turkey, but I honestly don’t know when _that_ was bought so you’d be taking a risk with it.”

Draco leaned into Pansy, who took his weight without complaint, scribbling away in a small spiral notebook with a biro; a habit she’d taken up for convenience’s sake when she’d decided to become a party planner. “I think the roast beef, with mayo and ketchup mixed and...what sort of cheese have we got?”

Ginny leaned down to check, saying over her shoulder. “Cheddar, looks like. Swiss from when Harry made that chicken-thing last week. And...fresh mozzarella.”

“The last, please.”

“Spinach? Roasted red pepper? Tomato?”

“Not the tomato, but the others.” Draco replied. He shot her a grateful smile as she floated ingredients to the table for easier assembly. “You truly are a dear, you know.”

Ginny leaned down on her way past and brushed her lips over his forehead. “You’re busy making my niece or nephew. The least I can do is make you some food.” She pulled away and added with a wink. “Not to mention, shagging Harry’s got to tucker a body right out.”

Granger cleared her throat as Ginny sat down and started making Draco’s food. “It’s...nice to see you, Malfoy. And congratulations, of course, on the baby. I’m sorry I haven’t been by sooner but I’ve been terribly busy.”

“Yes, Ron said as much.” Draco smiled at her, because if he could get along with _Ron_ than it should be nothing at all to get along with _her._ She’d always been the least disagreeable of _the Golden Trio,_ at least in Draco’s eyes. “And please, call me Draco. I’d imagine my child will call you Aunt Hermione, so it seems only right.”

“Yes, well. I suppose that’s true.” She managed a slight smile. “And of course you can call me Hermione. Or Herm, even, as everyone tends to do.”

Pansy made a small sound of amusement. “That’s a _horrid_ nickname, darling. You ought to go with ‘Mione instead, as it’s far prettier. Much better suited to you.”

“So you’ve said, on every occasion we’ve spoken in the last two years.” Hermione sounded amused and Draco wondered when Hermione and Pansy had spoken _at all,_ let alone about nicknames. “But I’m afraid getting anyone to change it at this point is probably impossible.”

“Well, at least let us Slytherins call you ‘Mione.” Draco offered. “Pansy and Blaise and myself, I mean. I’d imagine you’ll be meeting Blaise at _some_ point, after all, given the circumstances.”

Pansy dropped one hand to pet Draco’s belly, cooing at it. “Are you _circumstances,_ little darling? Yes, you are. Sweet, Merlin-blessed circumstances. Lovely little thing...”

Draco swatted her hand away, sliding over on the bench to put a bit of space between them. “Stop that, you daft bint. You’ll give the Half-Bit a complex that way.” Pansy just laughed and went back to whatever she was writing, so Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to the other two. “So, what’s got all of you gathered, then?”

“Baby shower.” Ginny explained, pushing a plate of food closer to Draco. “We’re planning.”

Draco nodded, picking up his sandwich. Before taking a bite, he said. “Catch me up, then.”

As he ate, the women proceeded to do just that.

~*~*~*~

Draco was pleased to find that he and Harry fell into something of an easy rhythm after falling back into bed together. Though they didn’t speak of it, when the time came for them to retire to bed it was done together. On nights when Harry wasn’t working overnight, at least. They spent some nights in Draco’s bed, and some nights in Harry’s, and Draco was grateful that Harry never pushed Draco to move into his room entirely. He was becoming increasingly attached to Harry; cared a great deal for him, in fact. But that didn’t mean he was ready to give up his space. He _needed_ it.

On nights when Harry worked late or entirely overnight, Draco went to bed in his own room and Harry would join him when he got off. Draco liked those mornings best. Waking up after a night alone to find Harry wrapped around him, safe and secure in the Auror’s arms. It was soothing. Comforting. Enticing.

And yes, Draco wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit that they had taken to having sex with some level of frequency. Not every day, because sometimes Draco had heartburn and the slightest bit of pressure on his belly made him want to hurl. And sometimes he was just _tired,_ for no good reason at all. And sometimes _Harry_ was tired because catching all of the evil doers in the world - or in wizarding Britain, at least - was exhausting. But most days, Draco was eager to get his hands on Harry and didn’t hesitate to do just that when the opportunity arose. In truth, he didn’t think he’d been quite this horny since he was first sorting out what his prick was for. Not that he was complaining, of course. Because Draco was actually _loving_ the whole situation.

Except, of course, for the _bloody staring._

Draco sucked in an annoyed breath between his teeth and glared across the waiting area at the mousey little woman who was staring at him. _“What?”_ He finally bit out, his jaw clenched with the effort it was taking him to _not_ yell. _“What_ are you staring at?”

The woman flushed, but she squeaked out a stuttering reply. “I-i’ve just never s-seen a man w-who was c-carrying before. I’m s-sorry.”

Draco sighed, deflating in an instant because the poor thing seemed genuinely contrite. “I apologize. I’ve been getting a lot of staring, and reporters, and just...I’m afraid my temper’s not been the best lately. I oughtn’t have snapped at you.”

The woman managed a trembling smile, glancing around nervously before scurrying across the carpeted floor between their chairs and taking the one right beside Draco. “I’m T-tilly. Tilly M-Marsh.”

Draco felt himself soften towards the timid young woman - _painfully_ young, he realized, now that he was getting a closer look at her. “Draco.” He offered. He glanced at her belly - much fuller than his, so clearly she was further along than his twenty weeks - and asked. “When are you due?”

“I...” Tilly shrugged, looking helpless. “I d-don’t kn-know. This i-is my first v-visit.”

Draco gaped at her, taking her hand in his and squeezing comfortingly because Tilly’s eyes had filled with tears and she was shaking all over. “Are you here alone or is someone coming?”

“A-alone.” She whispered it as though she were terrified to admit it out loud; as though saying it might make it true. _‘Or,’_ Draco thought, taking in her vaguely unkempt appearance and the nervous way her eyes darted all around. _‘As though it might make it_ un _true.’_

“How old are you?” He asked, because he couldn't _not._ Not given how she looked, and the waves of fear practically rolling off her.

“A-almost seventeen.” She choked the words out as tears spilled down her cheeks. “M-mother and F-father didn’t w-want me to b-be seen. I d-don’t know w-what they were p-planning when the b-baby comes, but I l-left.” In the barest whisper, she added. “I’m s-so scared.”

Draco immediately pulled the girl - because she _was_ just a girl - close, shushing her soothingly. “Does the baby’s father know?” He asked, once she’d calmed down a little. 

She shook her head. “N-no. H-he’s just a m-muggle boy. F-from in town, where my p-parents l-live.”

Draco nodded, arms still around her. He watched as Zach walked in, then said softly to Tilly. “I’ll help you, don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.”

Zach slowed when he spotted the way Draco was wrapped around a strange girl, then asked softly. “Is everything alright, Draco?”

“Quite.” Draco assured him, smiling slightly despite the worry he felt. “I’ve simply made a new friend and she’s feeling a mite overwhelmed is all.”

Zach was now frowning at the girl, though, in a puzzled sort of way and Draco had a sudden thought. “Zach...do you know a family called the Marshes by any chance?”

Zach’s eyes snapped to him, then dropped back to the girl curled into his side, and then to her swollen belly. “Oh dear Merlin... _Tilly?”_ He sounded hoarse; thunderstruck, really. He crouched down, touching mousy brown hair and shushing soothingly when she cringed back. “Oh, sweetling...whatever happened?”

“Th-they were _s-so_ angry...” She whispered, and tears were flowing freely now. “I w-wouldn’t tell them wh-who it w-was. I _c-couldn't,_ he’s a m-muggle, and F-father...”

She hiccoughed, scrubbing roughly at her face with her palms. Draco noted that her skin was grimy enough that the tears were leaving trails of clean, pale skin in their wake. He thought she might be at least passably pretty, if she were cleaned up properly. As it was, she mostly looked miserable and pathetic and terribly defeated. Draco’s heart ached for her.

“You know her?” Draco asked lowly. Zach nodded, hands still petting Tilly’s hair while he tried to sooth her with soft sounds and gentle touches. “Who is she?”

“Her family’s estate is near my parent’s.” Zach explained, his voice not much louder than Draco’s had been; barely above a whisper. “They’re...we’ll, think the Blacks, but worse. The Gaunts, maybe, though a bit better about bringing in outside blood every few generations and they do try to keep it to second-cousins or further when they can. And while they’re not the Weasleys they’re prolific enough to manage it, mostly. Lesser family, but _old._ And isolated. Home-schooled, all of them.”

Which explained why Draco hadn’t heard of them. Lucius did his best to _not_ associate with families that had descended into inbreeding and isolationism. Aside from his _wife,_ of course, though the Blacks had only intermarried _sometimes._ It was no wonder the state Tilly was in, given that. He marveled a little that she’d been able to run away in the first place, let alone make it all the way to London. He wondered how long ago she’d run off and where she was sleeping, or when the last time she’d had a proper meal was.

“I c-can’t go back, Z-zach.” She tangled her fingers in the front of Zack’s sweater, clutching desperately at the soft wool. “I j-just _can’t._ I w-won’t. I...”

“Shhh...” Zach soothed, sitting down on the floor and pulling the tiny girl forward until she was cradled against his chest, on his lap. “Hush, sweetling. I won’t let them hurt you, you know that. It’ll be alright. Tiny Tildera...my little marsh-mouse, hush now. Haven’t I always kept you safe? Have you ever come to harm in my care?”

Tilly hiccoughed again, but sighed and seemed to melt into Zach as she nodded. “Y-you never l-let my brothers or c-cousins bully m-me. O-or the other k-kids at my p-parents parties.”

“Snakes will eat a little mouse.” Zach said, like someone reciting a nursery rhyme. “And lions will eat a little mouse, and eagles will eat a little mouse...”

“But the b-badger keeps the little m-mouse safe, and w-warm, a-and well.” Tilly finished, lifting her head and leaning back in Zach’s arms to stare up at him with wide eyes that Draco noticed were a shocking violet color. “I’m not a ch-child now, Zach. I’m n-not b-being teased by bigger ch-children. You _c-can’t_ keep me s-safe from this.” She laughed, and it sounded brittle. “I d-don’t think I’m y-your little m-marsh-mouse anymore.”

Zach looked up at Draco, something pained and desperate on his face, and Draco marveled that this tiny scrap of a girl had inspired such loyalty and devotion from Zach. And he knew what that look was saying; had known Zach for so many years that - despite the time they’d spent growing apart - words weren’t always necessary. It was a question, and plea, and Draco nodded. Because _of course._ And because he’d already promised Tilly he’d help her, hadn’t he? So what else could he do but agree, no matter if it might complicate matters if Zach was the father of _his_ child. His growing relationship with Harry had _already_ complicated matters. What was one more complication? It was nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

Nothing, compared to Tilly’s fear and pain and desperation. Her _resignation._

As soon as Draco nodded, Zach dropped his eyes to Tilly’s and spoke. “We’ll tell your parents it’s mine. There’ll be a bit of a fuss, with the age difference, but it’ll blow over. I’ll marry you, sweetling, and the baby will have my last name as well, and you’ll _never_ come to harm from them. I’ll protect you both. I swear it.”

Tilly’s eyes flew to Draco and he smiled gently at her. “I won’t tell anyone the truth. Zach and I are friends, and I would never hurt him. Or you. If you can handle the fact that Zach might be the father of _my_ child - and that there’s going to be a bit of a stir even if he _isn’t_ because there was still the possibility he could have been - then please, don’t let me knowing hold you back. Zach _can_ protect you.”

“B-but....” Tilly whispered shakily, fingers plucking restlessly at Zack’s sweater. “Wh-what will I s-say about r-running away? A-about why I w-wouldn’t n-name the father, if it w-was you?”

“We’ll say you were afraid my parents wouldn’t approve; that you worried they might not let me marry you. ” Zach pressed a kiss to Tilly’s forehead, his hands stroking soothingly over her back as she settled against him again. “And that you finally found the courage to tell me, so you ran away to track me down. No one has to know you were on your own; we’ll say I had you staying with a friend while we sorted ourselves out. How long have you been gone for?”

“Almost f-five days.”

“We’ll say she was staying with me.” Draco said, without hesitation. “It won’t help the scandal any, really, but Harry and Ginny will lend credence to the lie if I explain it’s to protect an innocent girl. And if they meet Tilly for even a few minutes, they’ll agree to help any way they can. You _know_ they will, Gryffindor heroes that they are.”

For a moment there was silence, then Zach asked. _“Can_ she stay with you? For a few days, at least. I...I think we should marry _before_ I take her home and that’ll take a few days to arrange.”

“I’m s-still sixteen.” Tilly pointed out. “You n-need my parents p-permission to m-marry me.”

But Draco was already shaking his head. “Not if you’re pregnant, and not if you both claim him as the father of the child. Pureblood laws dictate that Zach has the right to claim the mother of his heir and make her his wife, regardless of her age or the protestations of her family, in order to ensure an uninterrupted line of inheritance and to prevent a rightful heir from being denied their birthright by the mother’s family.”

“P-paternity test?”

“Only if one of us - not our families, but one of _us_ \- expressed doubts regarding paternity.” Zach assured her, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “I’ll need just a few days, to sort things out. Will you be okay, staying with Draco until then? I’ll come see you every day and he’s right that his friends will help you and protect you.”

Tilly took a shuddering breath, but nodded. “Okay. Y-yes. I’ll m-marry you.”

Just then, a mediwitch called Tilly’s name and she startled. “Go with her.” Draco told Zach, without hesitation. “Go with her, and see to hers and the baby’s health. After our appointments, you can go start filing the necessary paperwork and I’ll take Tilly back to the house with me.”

Zach agreed.

~*~*~*~

Roger showed up a few minutes after Tilly’s name was called, and seemed confused to find Draco alone. “Where are the others?”

“Harry’s at work. He’ll be here, but I’d imagine he got tied up with something and is just running a bit late.” Draco smiled tiredly and added. “Zach is with his _fiance.”_

Roger blinked in surprise, then sat down beside Draco and asked curiously. “What fiance? I thought he had no intention of marrying so young.”

Draco shrugged. “Yes, well. It seems he managed to knock up a neighbor’s daughter, and she’s rather far along and has only just found the courage to tell him. So he’ll be marrying her straight-away, obviously, as her parents haven’t been kind about the whole thing and it’s been agreed the best thing is to get her away from them immediately.” He sighed and added. “She’s staying with me and Harry for a few days, until Zach can get all the paperwork in line, and then he’ll take her home with him. She’s quite sweet, if a bit timid and terribly young.”

“Well. This _has_ gotten complicated, hasn’t it?” Roger was smiling though, so Draco wasn’t too worried about it. “It lends itself to Zach being the father though, doesn’t it? That he’s managed to sire another child...”

“What, because he’s clearly in fully working order?” Draco laughed, and Roger chuckled as well. “No, I seem to recall you _all_ being in working order, so I don’t think it’s got any bearing, really. But it does make things a bit more complicated, and it certainly won’t make for the nicest headline. I’ll have to owl Vash later and see what sort of damage-control can be done.”

“Vash Penbrooke?” Roger asked, and Draco nodded, intrigued by the way Roger was blushing. “I didn’t realize you knew him. Personally, I mean. Well enough to be owling him and such.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, giving Roger a considering look. “I’ve never shagged him, if that’s what you’re getting at, though I think maybe Blaise has. But then, that can be said about a rather large number of people, so.” He shrugged and added. “I spend a fair amount of time talking to the press, so I tend to get to know them. It pays off when I need a favor, and it keeps the worst sort of headlines _far_ away from me and mine.”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t implying...I just...” And yes, Roger was _definitely_ blushing. “I’ve just...seen him around. At matches and events and things.”

“Hmmm.” Draco bit back a smirk and wondered if it would be possible to introduce the two men. Not that he had any idea if Vash would be interested in Roger, but it certainly wouldn’t _hurt_ anything. “Well, anyway, whenever I have a press concern, he’s the one I go to. He’s always been accommodating and we really do need the best press possible these days.”

They lapsed into silence until Draco’s name was called. “Well.” Draco stood, his palms damp enough that he felt the need to discreetly wipe them on his pants. “I suppose it’s just us, then.” He followed Sally to the exam room, because there was nothing else to be done, and did his best to ignore the curiosity on her face - no doubt over Zach’s presence with Tilly, and Harry’s absence.

By the time he’d changed into the gown and Sally had taken his vitals before leaving to let Healer Jameson know Draco was ready for him, Draco had resigned himself to the fact that Harry wasn’t going to make it. And if that made him want to cry - just a bit - than it was _clearly_ just the hormones. It wasn’t as though it mattered, one way or the other, if Harry was at the appointment or not. Draco could certainly tell him the baby’s gender later, at home, assuming Healer Jameson could even _tell._ It was just one appointment, and there would be others. It absolutely was _not_ a big deal.

Which is why, when the door flew open and a red-faced, out-of-breath, disheveled Harry flew in, Draco promptly burst into tears. _Obviously._

“What?” Harry gasped, staggering over to Draco while clutching at his side where he clearly had a stitch from the way he’d apparently _sprinted_ through St. Mungos to get to Draco’s appointment on time. “Draco, what’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you in pain? Talk to me, love.”

Draco reached out and tangled his fingers in Harry’s Auror uniform, tugging the other man close enough that he could burrow into his chest, sobbing. “You m-made it, and I didn’t think you _would,_ and...”

He dissolved into hiccoughing sobs even as Harry’s stroked his back and hair, shushing him soothingly. “It’s alright, darling. I’m here. I made it. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything, Draco. Not for _anything._ Shhh...”

The sound of a throat clearing behind them brought Draco’s head up. “Well. This is probably just hormones, but I have to say I much prefer the laughing fit from last time.”

“Sorry...” Harry shot Jameson an apologetic look. “This was my fault. I was running late and Draco didn’t think I was going to make it in time, and...where’s Smith?”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Draco cut in, because he did _not_ want to get into the _lie_ portion of things with Harry and he didn’t want more people knowing the truth that was absolutely necessary. “Let’s just get through the appointment, yeah? It’s been a long day.”

And after looking at Draco’s face - tear-stained and no doubt splotchy and red and reasonably unattractive, in Draco’s experience - Harry agreed. “Of course. Whatever you want, love.”

“Great.” Jameson smiled and stepped closer, wand raised. “Now, we’re going to be doing a check on all of the baby’s organs, the overall growth and development, and trying to get another peek at gender. Assuming, of course, that you haven’t changed your mind about wanting to know.”

“I want to know.” Draco reassured him, doing his best to pretend his voice was steady and that he wasn’t taking hiccoughy, shuddering breaths every so often. “I definitely want to know.”

Jameson cast, pulling up the baby’s image. He scribbled away on his chart while talking to Harry and Draco and Roger - who had moved closer once the baby was visible - about what he was looking at and measuring. The baby’s brain, and spine, and slowly forming organs. The way all ten fingers were countable, and the length of the baby’s legs, and how they could see the outline of a pert little nose when the baby turned its head just-so. Draco savored the little flutters he was feeling beneath his skin - not _every_ time the baby moved, but some of the time - which he knew would soon be felt from the outside as well. And then came the moment of truth; the moment when Jameson checked - one last time - that they wanted to know the gender.

Draco reaffirmed his yes, while both Harry and Roger nodded, and then Jameson smiled at them and told Draco what he’d been wondering about since he’d first seen twelve red lines on six white tests. “It’s a boy.”

“A boy.” Draco whispered, and yes, he was crying again. He turned into Harry’s chest once more, needing the feel of those strong arms around him to help anchor him.

“We’re having a boy.” Harry whispered against his hair, pressing a firm kiss to the top of Draco’s head. “We’re having a son. God, that’s just... _amazing.”_ He set Draco back from a little, then ducked down to give Draco a fierce kiss, breaking it a moment later with laughter and a huge grin. “It’s a _boy.”_

And Draco laughed as well, though he still had tears brimming over. “Yes, Harry. A boy. You...you’re happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Harry assured him, kissing him again.

Draco turned his head when Roger touched his shoulder, and the older man was smiling at him. “Congratulations, Draco; Harry. I’m sure he’s going to be beautiful.”

And Draco understood what Roger _wasn’t_ saying; that Roger understood that the baby - regardless of who had sired it - was _not_ going to be _Roger’s._ It was Draco’s baby and, by Draco’s own choice, it was _Harry’s_ as well. So the congratulations were for them; for the two who would be _parents,_ in every sense of the word. And Draco felt a great rush of relief and gratitude towards Roger, because he could make things very difficult for them if the baby was his but Draco knew he wouldn’t. No more than Zach would.

“Thank you.” He whispered, doing his best to express just how strongly he meant the words.

~*~*~*~

“We should go out and celebrate.” Harry said, fingers twined with Draco’s as they walked out into the waiting room. “Or we should-” He stopped talking abruptly, frowning at the young woman who had rushed over to them and thrown herself into Draco’s arms. “Er...”

Draco looked around, even as he let go of Harry’s hand to hug Tilly back. Roger had already walked away, as he had a Quidditch practice to get to, and Zach was the only person who was _really_ nearby, but Draco still wasn’t sure a waiting room was the best place for this conversation. So he set Tilly back from him and nodded towards the elevators.

“Let’s head back to the house. We can talk about everything there.” Draco kept his voice firm and even, willing steel into it the way he’d been taught to do since he was a child. Harry opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, and Draco added. “We’ll talk _at home,_ Harry. Not here.”

Harry’s eyes darted between Zach and Draco and Tilly, then he sighed and nodded. “Alright. I trust you. Let’s go back to the house to talk.”

~*~*~*~

Draco had been right about Harry and Ginny needing no more than a few minutes to get on board with helping Tilly out. And while neither of them seemed thrilled with the fact that Zach would be visiting daily for the duration of her stay with them, they didn’t object. Because Tilly was trembling, and teary-eyed, and about two and a half months away from giving birth if the Healer was to be believed. Ginny and Harry took to her immediately and, as soon as Draco explained the situation - and the proposed solution - they agreed to say Tilly had been staying with them since her _disappearance,_ should anyone bother to ask. Because _of course_ they would protect an innocent young girl they’d never met before. There wasn’t a thing about that that was surprising in the slightest.

Ginny had barely let Draco finish the story before whisking Tilly away to shower and borrow clean clothes. Zach, for his part, had hurried off to get started on the legal side of things. Which left Draco and Harry alone, at least until the girls finished upstairs. Zach had promised Tilly he’d return in time for dinner, and Draco was honestly just grateful that neither of the Gryffindors had objected.

“You know...” Harry said, even as he started chopping vegetables for a stirfry. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Smith act like that before. Putting someone else ahead of himself, I mean.” He glanced over at Draco and added. “Also, a lot of my friends like to take the mickey by saying I can’t help bringing in strays, but I guess I’m not the only one. You knew you were going to help her _before_ you knew Smith knew her, didn’t you?”

“I knew.” Draco agreed, because there was no reason to deny it; it was the truth, after all. “And Zach’s not as horrible as you like to think. I get it; he didn’t live up to your expectations. He’s not what _anyone_ thinks of when they hear _Hufflepuff._ But just because Zach isn’t a martyr, and just because he doesn’t align himself with anyone and everyone, doesn’t mean he’s not loyal. The people he bonds with - the ones he feels a strong allegiance towards - get the focus of his loyalty; his devotion. To the exclusion - and yes, the _detriment_ \- of everything and every _one_ else. And not all of us consider that a failing.”

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight.” Harry promised softly. “I was just saying I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t think he’s _horrible,_ by the way. I just...don’t like him. Never have.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Draco’s lips twitched up into a smile as he added. “Especially given the feeling’s _entirely_ mutual. And if it’s any consolation, I think it’s vexing Zach quite thoroughly to have to rely on you to help him protect Tilly.”

Harry laughed, green eyes gleaming wickedly. “Honestly? It helps a fair bit.”

Draco watched Harry chop for a few minutes, eyes tracking the deft and sure way Harry chopped and diced. Then he said quietly. “I think I’ll go and put my feet up, in the front drawing room.”

“The autumn-one?” Harry queried, trying to make sure he’d know where Draco was going to be.

“No, that’s a parlour.” Draco replied, smiling a little. Mostly because he had honestly decided which rooms were what almost completely arbitrarily and he hadn’t the faintest idea if he was correct or not...but he was _positive_ that Harry hadn’t a clue about that fact. “The drawing room is the one that’s all deep blue and grey and white.”

“Oh, the stormy water one.” Harry smiled at Draco. “I like that room. It might even be my favorite, honestly. There’s something about it that’s just... _soothing,_ you know?”

He tipped his head up for a kiss as Draco walked past him, and Draco was happy to oblige. “Go and rest, love. I’ll come and fetch you when dinner’s ready.”

Draco was all too happy to obey.

~*~*~*~

Tiladera Marsh was actually _very pretty._ In fact, Draco might even go so far as to call her _beautiful._ Her hair was not the mousey brown he’d initially assumed, but rather a light brown with red streaked liberally through it. Her pretty violet eyes stood out starkly against her fair skin, which was as pale as cream when it wasn’t covered in several layers of grime and dirt. She was slender, and barely came up to Draco’s shoulder, and even the full curve of her pregnant belly was elegant and pleasing to the eye. In fact, when she was clean and dressed in nice clothes, she was a far cry from the street waif she had appeared to be when Draco had first met her.

In truth, now that he had seen how well she cleaned up, Draco was far less surprised that Zach had offered to marry her. He had an apparent fondness for her _and_ she was beautiful; it was likely the closest to a love match that Zach had any hope of making.

In truth, Draco was sorry to see her go after only four days. But she and Zach were married - in a small, private ceremony that took place in Grimmauld Place - and there was no reason for her to stay any longer. Zach was going to take her home to his parents - and inform _her_ parents of their wedding - and that was the end of that. Draco made her promise to come visit, and Zach promised they’d _both_ come for Draco’s baby shower, and Ginny had promised to take Tilly shopping for a whole new wardrobe after the baby was born. At that, Zach had raked his eyes consideringly over Ginny. She was dressed in clothes that were perhaps not _quite_ as fashionable as what Pansy wore, but which were certainly just as flattering and a bit bolder - a bit wilder and more daring. Zach had almost immediately agreed to let her help Tilly with the new clothes she would require, now that she was his wife. Zach’s family were _not_ reclusive, after all, unlike the Marshes.

All-in-all, Draco considering his first _real_ rescue mission to be a rousing success. He thought that maybe - _just maybe_ \- he was hitting his stride. Things were going _so_ well and Draco couldn't help feeling extremely optimistic about his future. He had a baby boy on the way, he was dating Harry Potter, and he had a seemingly ever-growing circle of friends to help support him when things were difficult. Yes, it was quite possible that Draco’s life was _finally_ looking up.

~*~*~*~

Draco let his eyes drift over the guests, wondering when the hell _this many people_ had wound up important enough to his life to merit an invitation to his baby shower. As he caught _multiple_ glimpses of ginger hair, he mentally acknowledged that at least _some_ of these guests were for Harry’s side of things. Still, there was an entire passle of former Slytherins mulling about, rubbing elbows with the aforementioned Weasley clan. There were an equal - if not greater - number of former Gryffindors running about, with the odd Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff thrown in, including the other two prospective fathers. Tilly was here with Zach - ready to pop, from the looks of it, though she had laughingly told Draco that she had another week or so left before the baby came.

Draco noted, as his eyes continued skimming over the crush, that Roger and Vash were still talking. Which was a good sign considering Draco had introduced them some twenty minutes earlier. As his eyes shifted around the room again, Draco found himself startling a little before taking a deep breath and settling himself, a smile curving his lips in welcome.

“Sorry.” Andromeda leaned in and bussed her cheek against Draco’s, making a soft kissing sound. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Did Harry not mention I was coming?”

“He did.” Draco reassured his aunt, still smiling at her. “It’s just... _always_ a little jarring, seeing you. Especially in a crowd, where it’s a glimpse first.” She inclined her head in acknowledgement and Draco asked. “Where’s Teddy got off to, then?”

“Straight to Harry, as ever.” Andromeda rolled her eyes, though she seemed pleased. “You’d think he _hadn’t_ just spent three days here for his birthday, given the way he carried on the moment he saw Harry.”

“He’s six.” Draco pointed out with a shrug and a fond look. “You have to expect him to be a bit demanding and needy, given that. Merlin knows _I_ was a terror at that age.”

Andromeda nodded, her smile going a bit sad around the eyes. “Yes, Nymphadora was as well. Still, it does my heart some measure of good to see the way he is with Harry. And you, Draco. He’s quite keen on you as well, you know. Chatters on about you after a visit, and he’s eager as anything for the baby to arrive.”

“I’m fair fond of him, too.” Draco assured her, and it was the truth. He loved his young cousin and spending time with Teddy gave him hope that he wouldn’t be _completely_ awful at the whole parenting thing. “And better eagerness for his cousin than jealousy over a new baby in Harry’s life.”

“How very true.”

Draco gasped, whirling around to gape at the woman who’d spoken. She was as lovely as ever, and it made tears well up in his eyes to see her. “M-mother...”

“Oh, hush now, darling boy.” Narcissa pulled Draco into a hug, despite the growing swell of his belly at thirty weeks, and shushed him soothingly. “I’m sorry I’ve not been to see you sooner, but I’m here now and for every bit of the rest of this. I promise.”

“Hello, Cissy.” Andromeda greeted her sister. “How are you?”

“Well enough, Andi. And yourself? I saw Teddy with Harry as I came in, and he’s growing like a weed.” She gave her sister a loving look over Draco’s shoulder as she continued hugging her son. “Soon enough he’ll be taller than the lot of us, I should think.”

“It’s certainly possible.” Andromeda agreed, laughing as she added. “More than, considering he’s a Meta. If tall is in fashion - and for men it usually is - I’d imagine he’ll ensure he’s the tallest one in any room, once he’d got a mind to start worrying about that sort of thing.”

All of a sudden, a streak of silver-white hair ran past their knees, shrieking all the while. _“Teddy!”_

Andromeda laughed loudly when Narcissa and Draco broke apart to gape after the tiny whirlwind of energy who was now across the room, attempting to climb _up Harry_ to reach Teddy. “It seems Bill and Fleur have arrived. That would be their firstborn, Victoire. She’ll be five in a week and a half, and she’s been obsessed with Teddy for most of her life.”

Fleur was prying Victoire off of Harry a moment later, clearly apologizing to Harry and scolding the girl in the same breath, though Harry appeared to be laughing and clearly didn’t mind the girl’s antics. Draco felt warmth blossom in his chest as he watched the scene, confident that Harry was going to be an _amazing_ father.

Bill approached a moment later, kissing his wife’s cheek and saying something to Harry. His scars gave Draco a pang of guilt, though the wide grin on his face and the infant in his arms - Draco’s put her at maybe six months old, if he was guessing - eased some of it. “That would be Dominique, their younger daughter.” Andi explained, though Draco hadn’t actually asked. 

“They’re beautiful little things, aren’t they?” Narcissa smiled at Draco, then Andi, and added. “I’m just going to go and introduce myself, and steal a little time with the children. Brush up a bit, before my grandson is born.”

Draco watched her go, startling a little when Andi touched his arm. “Sorry.” She held up her hands placatingly. “I’m sorry. It’s just...are you okay?”

Draco nodded, mustering a weak smile for his aunt. “I’m fine, Aunt Andi. It’s just the hormones. They wreak havoc on my mood, I’m afraid. I think I’ll step into the garden for a bit of air.”

Without waiting for a reply, Draco turned and began weaving his way through their guests, towards the small sun parlour that led out into the courtyard garden. A little fresh air would do him good.

~*~*~*~

Draco sank onto a gorgeous wooden bench, grateful he’d opted for the thicker cushion when he’d been renovating the garden. His hips ached, and so did his lower back, and the idea of sitting on something insufficiently soft made him want to cry. At least the green and cream striped cushion was plush and comforting beneath him. He closed his eyes, letting his head drop back to rest against the seatback. He breathed in the scent of loam, and mulch, and the first hints of spring flowers. It helped ease the tension in his limbs; helped him let go of some of the stress that accompanied a party of this size with guests of this number.

As his hands stroked soothingly over his belly - savoring the firm kicks he could now feel from the outside as well as beneath his skin - he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and murmuring voices. They were behind him, he thought; on the other side of the large flowering bushes and the small weeping cherry tree the bench was in front of. Out of Draco’s sight, but well within hearing range.

“I just...I can’t _believe_ her!” The voice was male, and low, and _furious._

“I’m sorry.” And that was _Pansy_ talking, Draco was sure of it. He’d know her voice anywhere. “I didn’t realize how much she’d been drinking.”

“It’s hardly your responsibility to babysit the champagne.” The man retorted, and his voice was still dark with anger but it had softened a little around the edges. Not much, but enough to make it clear that it wasn’t _Pansy_ he was angry with.

Pansy laughed, and the sound was rich and full and husky in the way it only was when she was _really_ laughing. It wasn’t a sound Draco heard much of these days and he’d missed it. “No, it’s not. But I _am_ the event coordinator so I probably ought to be making sure no one’s running about the place completely pissed.”

There was a short, sharp bark of laughter, then the man spoke again. “S’pose so. Still, I don’t think she was overly drunk. She just...she _forgets_ sometimes and I...I don’t...”

“Don’t handle it well?” 

Draco wondered when the last time was that he’d heard Pansy sound so soft; so _gentle._

“Yeah. It’s just hard is all. And I know she doesn’t mean it. That she’s not _trying_ to hurt me when she does it. But it doesn’t make it easier. Don’t think _anything_ can make it easier.”

Pansy hummed thoughtfully, then asked. “Have you considered it might be easier with someone who didn’t know him? They’d only see _you_ when looking at you, then. And you wouldn’t have to worry about things like that happening, in a crowd of friends and family who all knew _him_ as well. Salazar, but the way your mother teared up and then _she_ started crying, and...”

“Sorry.” And that was George Weasley, Draco was certain of it now. “I can’t imagine Malfoy’s loving the way my family and girlfriend just drama-coated his baby shower.”

Pansy laughed again, the same rich sound as before. “Actually, any drama that’s not _his_ is a blessing. Pulls focus from him and _The Scandal of Three Fathers_ and all that rot. And anyway, I didn’t see him in there so he didn’t even have to witness it firsthand. I’m sure he won’t blame _you,_ anyway. It’s hardly your fault she said _his_ name, after all, and no one can blame you for getting angry over it.”

“Pretty sure they can blame me for the other stuff Angie said.” And now George sounded weary. “And it’s not like she was wrong. This happens and I lose my temper and the next thing you know I’m waking up in the morning to some bird I’ve never met sleeping on Angie’s side of the bed because if _she_ can’t say my name then I guess I’ll settle for someone else screaming it, right? And it’s just...it’s a mess. And I wish she’d not shouted it in front of everyone, but it’s hardly been a secret, either.”

There was silence for a moment, then a startled sound from George, and then - after a few more heartbeats of silence - he said roughly. “What was that for?”

Pansy hummed again, then said huskily. “I just thought, if you were in the mood to make a lady scream your name, I’d offer my voice up for your listening pleasure is all.”

Draco covered his mouth with both hands, biting down on the inside of his cheek to stifle the laughter bubbling up. He had never heard Pansy say something so...so _lewd_ before. There was a few more moments of silence, then George asked softly. “You don’t think that makes me awful? Wanting that? You _know_ I’m with Angie.”

Draco could imagine Pansy shrugging, and the faintly amused look on her face, just from the tone of her voice when she answered him. “There are many types of people in the world and we’re not all saints, George. But most of us, I’m sure you’ll agree, are sinners, at least every now and again. I don’t care about whatever hold _she_ has on you, but if you’re asking my advice I think you ought to try to break it. You’re toxic to each other; poison made specifically for the other. It’s not healthy, or smart, or even particularly sane to stay together. I think it would benefit you both to just put an end to the whole farce, once and for all.

“But even if you stay with her, it doesn’t bother me.” Pansy continued. “Because whatever tangled mess the two of you have, it’s got nothing to do with _me._ And if the only reason I get a chance to scream your name is because she cocked things up, I’m quite alright with that.”

“Why?”

Pansy laughed, softly this time; it was almost tired and Draco imagined her smile was much the same. “Because you’re funny, and sweet, and terribly clever. You make cutting remarks whenever you see fit and don’t let anyone dictate what you can do or how you live your life. You’re also quite attractive, with those piercing blue eyes and those strong hands that make me wonder what they could do to me; what pleasures they could give. And when you top it all with the way you look at me, and speak to me - like I am _more_ than my House, and my past, and the mistakes I’ve made - it’s a fairly appealing package.”

George cleared his throat, then said quietly. “We’ve known each other in a friendly capacity for almost two years now, Pan. We spend a fair amount of time at various events and parties talking, and you’ve popped into the shop a time or two, and we have lunch _at least_ twice a month. You’ve never let on that you wanted more than friendship. So why _now? ”_

“Because now is the first time I’ve thought _you_ might be ready.” Pansy admitted. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to catch up to me, about how good the possibility of _us_ is. Because I am _so tired_ of watching the way she hurts you, and I want you to know that you deserve more than that. And I’m willing to _give you_ that more. As much or as little of it as you’d like.”

George’s voice, when it came again, was hoarse and strained. “I can’t go back in there. Not right now.”

“So we’ll leave.” Pansy said, as easy as that. “Then, when you’re ready, you can tell Angie - and everyone else - what you’ve decided. And I’ll be with you, every step of the way.”

“But you can’t leave, can you? I mean, Malfoy’s your best friend and you’re the one who threw this whole thing for him, right? So you can’t just _leave.”_

And that, Draco decided, was his cue. Raising his voice _just a bit,_ he called out. “If the two of you will recuse yourselves from my garden so I might be able to take a bit of air _in peace,_ I don’t bloody well care _where_ you nip off to, really. Pansy, thank you for the party. It’s absolutely perfect. We’ll chat in a few days time, when you finally let this particular Weasley come up for air, yes? Lovely, thank you again, _goodbye.”_

Pansy laughed even as George stammered, and called back. “Enjoy the rest of the shower, darling. We’ll talk soon; I know you’ll love my gift!”

A soft _pop_ let Draco know that Pansy had apparated the remaining Weasley twin out of the garden - and, very likely, directly to her bedroom - and he sighed and slumped back into the bench. He was happy for Pansy, of course; Merlin knew she’d prattled on about George Weasley often enough for Draco to suspect she had feelings for him. It was also true that the Weasley-related drama was likely to garner a measure of gossip, which would draw some of the attention away from Draco and his situation. It was just that it was all so _bloody exhausting._

Knowing a nap was out of the question, Draco promised himself another five minutes of peace and quiet and solitude before he waded back into the fray. It was the _least_ he deserved, really.

~*~*~*~

“Where’d you vanish to?” Harry asked, winding his arms around Draco’s waist, hands resting on the high point of Draco’s belly. He hooked his chin over Draco’s shoulder and Draco let himself melt back into the wall of heat and strength that was Harry Potter. “One minute you were with Andi and the next you were gone.”

“I needed some air.” Draco murmured, tipping his head a little to the side to allow Harry to nuzzle his cheek and the line of his jaw. “And some quiet, to be honest. Pansy and George left, by the way.”

Harry hummed. “Together?” Draco nodded and Harry said. “Well, that’s interesting. Can’t be worse than the whole scene with Angie was, anyway. She left, too. I think Dean took her home, but he’ll come back once he’s got her settled in, I’d imagine.”

“Hmmm.” Draco sighed softly and rested his hands on top of Harry’s, marveling that _this_ was the man he got to do this with. That _Harry_ was the person who had chosen Draco, despite all of the reasons he shouldn’t, and so he got to have a baby shower full of Weasley-related drama and a stack of gifts to open from former-Gryffindors he’d once been on the opposite side of a war from. “You know...this isn’t exactly how I imagined any baby shower for a child of mine going, but I think it’s perfectly lovely. And I wanted you to know how grateful I am, for that. For everything that comes with you. With a _life_ with you.”

Harry laughed in his ear, then whispered. “I love you, Draco Malfoy. And I am more than happy to share my chaotic, drama-filled, _insane_ life with you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Draco spun around in Harry’s grip, eyes wide, and stared up into those fathomless green eyes. His heart was thundering away in his chest and he knew his breathing was suddenly shallow and frantic. He searched Harry’s face desperately, looking for proof of the words Harry had just said. And it was there. In every line of Harry’s face, in the curve of his lips and the softness in his gaze. It was _there_ and Draco knew it was true. And as much as he wanted to say the words back - as much as the feeling was slowly growing inside him alongside the baby - he couldn't quite get them to roll off his tongue. Not yet; not until he was _sure._

“Harry, I...I c-”

“Shhh.” Harry cut him off, one strong hand cupping Draco’s cheek. He pressed his lips to Draco’s forehead. “It’s fine, love. You’ll say it when you’re ready. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to hear _you_ say it. I said it because I needed you to hear _me_ say it. Instead of everybody else saying it for me.”

Draco laughed, a bit tearily. “I thought you might kill Ginny one of these days, if she didn’t stop saying it for you all the time. It was kind of funny, and kind of sweet.” He glanced up at Harry from under his eyelashes and added softly. “I like hearing it. From you, I mean. I like it a lot.”

Harry’s lips curled up. “Then I’ll have to say it a lot, won’t I? I love you.” He dropped the hand not on Draco’s face down to the curve of Draco’s belly and added. “I love _both_ of you, more than I can say.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat had them drawing apart, both of them turning to look at the doorway to the kitchen, which was where Harry had found Draco. Hermione was standing there, a soft look on her face. “I hate to interrupt, but...it’s time for gifts.”

Draco stepped fully away from Harry, grabbing the cold bottle of water he’d taken from the fridge just before Harry had joined him. “Well, we mustn’t keep everyone waiting then.” He smiled at Hermione, then tangled the fingers of his free hand together with Harry’s and followed the former Gryffindor woman back into the fray.

~*~*~*~

Draco had just unwrapped an absolutely _darling_ blanket made of grey-blue merino wool - he didn’t think he’d ever felt anything softer - when Tilly suddenly gasped. The sound was followed by a keening sort of cry as she doubled over, curling around her - frankly massive - belly. There was a flurry of action in the moments that followed, during which Zach panicked kind of a lot, Tilly seemed utterly exasperated with him, and Molly Weasley stepped in to control the sudden chaos. Before Draco quite knew what was happening, Zach and Tilly were whisked away to St. Mungos and the baby shower was doubling as a _new baby celebration,_ minus the parents in question.

Draco, for his part, was ushered back to gift-opening even as the assembled guests toasted Zach and his new bride’s baby. All-in-all, Draco had to admit it wasn’t the _worst_ way to round out the baby shower. If nothing else, the headlines Vash was likely to run were _probably_ going to be about his guests, rather than himself. It was a welcome change, really. Draco had never thought it would be the case, but he’d grown weary of the spotlight in recent weeks. If he never saw his name on the front page again, he’d honestly be okay with it. And he finally understood why Harry felt the same.

As he unwrapped a box containing a positively _adorable_ baby romper - in Slytherin green and silver - Draco couldn't help being grateful to everyone who had stepped up to support him and Harry. At least a portion of the gifts he was opening had been owled to them - and thoroughly checked-over by the Auror department for any potentially damage-causing magic before being allowed in Draco’s presence - and it was all because the Wizarding World at large had rallied around _The Savior and the Reformed Death Eater,_ as the headlines had been calling them. They were the darlings of the public eye and Draco knew that if Harry hadn’t loved him - if he had scorned Draco in the face of this unexpected pregnancy - things could have been _very_ different.

As Harry handed him another box to open, Draco felt a great rush of affection and wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was actually _love_ he was feeling. He still wasn’t sure - not yet - but he had no doubt that the love would come, at some point. He, Draco Malfoy, was going to _love_ Harry Potter. And it was, quite possibly, the best thing that had ever happened to him.

~*~*~*~

Draco was thirty-three weeks pregnant and - despite being increasingly large around the middle - he found himself getting hot and bothered more easily than ever. Thankfully, Harry seemed to find his growing belly insanely attractive and had taken to Draco’s frequent demands that Harry fuck him stupid with enthusiasm. He left Draco practically _purring_ with satisfaction after each encounter, and Draco honestly didn’t think he’d ever had a more active - or more impressive - sex life. It was exhilarating, knowing that Harry wanted him so much, despite the many changes in his body. And because of Harry’s easy acceptance of Draco’s increased libido, Draco found himself fully comfortable with his frequent need for sex.

What he _wasn’t_ sure how to handle, was waking up with a sudden desire to _fuck Harry._

And yes, of course Draco remembered that during their first night together, Harry had told Draco he was perfectly okay with fucking _or_ being fucked. But that had been then, and this was now, and they had since established with a large amount of regularity that Draco was the one _being_ fucked. Not mention, Draco hadn’t been pregnant at the time the offer was last made. He wasn’t sure how Harry would react to him broaching the topic now.

After three days - days during which Draco brushed off Harry’s touches, because he _wanted,_ yes, very much...but _not_ what Harry was attempting to initiate - it was Harry who brought it up.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Draco’s room - he’d not been seeking out Harry’s bed the last few days, forcing Harry to come to him - was dark around them, the barest hint of moonlight streaming through the window. There was space between them, as Draco had turned his face away from Harry’s kisses and Harry had rolled to the far side of the bed in response. It left Draco feeling cold, but he didn’t know what else to do. Didn’t know how to tell Harry what he wanted this time, when it was such a change from their normal dynamic. Because if Harry said no, Draco didn’t know what that would mean; how he would take it.

Still, it had been brought up - Harry’s question thrown between them on the bed like a gauntlet - and Draco knew he had to talk about it. “No. No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Okay. Good. That’s...that’s good.” Harry blew out a loud breath, then asked. “Is something wrong with you? Like, are you in pain or do you feel sick or...I don’t even know what I’m asking, honestly. I just...I don’t understand what’s been going on the last few days and I want to.”

“I know.”

There was silence, then Harry turned on his side and faced Draco. The shadowed room didn’t afford Draco the ability to see the brunette’s face, but he could imagine the confusion - and, no doubt, the _hurt_ \- that was scrawled across it. “Look, it’s okay if you don’t want sex, Draco. But that doesn’t mean you have to push me away. I can stop at just kissing, or cuddling. But I want to be close to you and I don’t understand why you aren’t letting that happen anymore.” Whisper-soft, he added. “I miss it. I miss _you.”_

“I’m sorry.” Draco’s hand inched across the sheets, finally curling around Harry’s and clinging tightly as he struggled to find the words he needed to explain things properly. “I want you. I want you very much, in fact. It’s only that I want...or rather, I _don’t_ want...I...”

Draco had spent a number of years taunting Harry about his lack of brains, and he’d always believed Hermione to be the only clever one of the lot, but Harry wasn’t on track to be the youngest Head Auror _ever_ for nothing, nor even based on his defeat of the Dark Lord. He was, at times, frighteningly astute. This time, Draco couldn't help being grateful for it.

“Draco, love...” Harry’s voice was low, and husky, and full of heat. “Do you want to top? Is that what this whole thing has been about?”

Draco made a small sound, clinging tighter to Harry’s hand, and the brunette was suddenly _very_ close. His lips brushed the shell of Draco’s ear as he murmured. “Silly love. All you had to do was ask and I’d have told you that I’d absolutely _love_ to have your cock up my arse for a change.”

A head-to-toe shiver wracked Draco’s body and he immediately fisted both hands in Harry’s dark hair, pulling the other man’s mouth to his. When they broke for air some minutes later, they were both panting and Harry said. “I would _never_ deny you something so simple, Draco. And I will always want you, in whatever way you see fit to give yourself to me. I love you, you nit. So stop being stupid and fuck me, yeah?”

Draco laughed, bright and happy. “Merlin, your bedroom talk needs work.” But he kissed Harry again and felt heat pool low in his belly at what was about to happen.

It would be a lie to say things went smoothly; to claim they slotted into place as naturally as he and Harry always had. Because Draco was just past seven months pregnant, and his belly was a cumbersome thing, and it only took Draco rolling them over so he was on top of Harry, between the auror’s spread thighs, for them to realize that this was _not_ going to be easy. In the end, Harry turned onto his stomach and raised his ass as high as he could, keeping his head and shoulders down on the mattress. His spine was an obscene curve; an arch so deep it almost looked painful.

But Harry gasped beautifully when Draco cupped his ass with both hands and spread him wide. He keened in the most enticing way when Draco lowered his head and dragged his tongue across furled, rosy flesh and whimpered in delight when Draco finally pushed his tongue inside. Those whimpers turned to needy whines and desperate, greedy pleas - _more, please Draco, fuck I need you, please_ \- when Draco pressed a slick finger in alongside his questing tongue. Then, as Draco pressed wet, sucking kisses up the line of Harry’s back - as high as he could before his belly got in the way, at least - he added more fingers, one at a time. Because Harry hadn’t done this since well before he’d been with Draco the first time, and Draco was loathe to hurt to the man beneath him.

So he went slowly. Draco set a torturous pace that had Harry sobbing and begging and pushing back into every press and thrust and twist of his long fingers. He drew out every bit of pleasure he could from Harry while opening him up; making sure that Harry could take him with ease. And Draco enjoyed every second of it. Savored every twitch of Harry’s well-muscled frame. Relished every sound that spilled from those full, cherry-red lips. Memorized the way the tight heat of Harry’s body felt around his fingers, and the perfect curve of Harry’s arched back, and the salty taste of Harry’s sweat-soaked skin under his mouth. Because Harry was _perfect,_ and every bit of that perfection was for him, and him alone. And Draco, better than anyone else, understood how precious of a gift that was; how precious _Harry_ was.

“Please...” Harry begged, voice hoarse and damp around the edges even as he canted his hips back against Draco’s fingers again. Draco noted that Harry’s thighs were trembling; that sweat was coating his back and making his skin glisten in the faint moonlight in the room; that his shaking hands were clenching and unclenching around fistfuls of the sheets in a desperate attempt to anchor himself against the rising tide of pleasure that Draco was lavishing on him. “Please, Draco, I need more...I need _you,_ now, _please...”_

“Shhhh...” Draco murmured, the hand not buried inside Harry skimming up his flank as though Draco were calming a skittish horse. “I’ve got you, darling. You’re alright.”

“No...” Harry moaned, shuddering as Draco pressed against his prostate again. “Please, I can’t...I need to come, Draco, but no-o-aaah!” Harry bucked beneath him as Draco kept teasing him from the inside out, then continued in a voice that was nearly a sob. “Not like this...please, want you, nnngghh... want you _inside_ me...”

“I know, pet. I know.” Draco ducked his head down and brushed his lips over the twin dimples at the small of Harry’s back, nipping lightly just above his tailbone before saying against his skin. “You need my cock, don’t you, darling? Need me to fill up this sloppy, slick, fucked-out hole of yours, don’t you?”

Harry keened again, the sound breaking into a gasping sob even as that dark head nodded against the sheets and a torrent of filth and desperation dripped off his tongue. “Yes, fuck Draco...yes, please, fuck me...fill me up, I need...unnngh, need your cock, please...”

And Draco was done denying Harry; done denying them _both._

The sound Harry made as Draco’s cock slid into him made every ounce of restraint worth it. The sound was needy, and pleased, and _beyond_ pornographic. The way Harry went boneless under Draco as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt inside him, was deeply gratifying as well. It was as though all the tension bled out of Harry between one heartbeat and the next; as though Draco’s cock inside him was the only thing he needed to be content. Given that, it was no surprise to Draco when a few quick snaps of his hips was all it took to have Harry mewling and writhing on his cock.

“That’s it, darling...” Draco gasped out, hands pressing bruises into Harry’s hips as he gripped tightly while thrusting into him. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Come on then, pet. Come for me, just like this.”

Harry keened again, his whole body shaking, and Draco growled as he ignored the nagging pain in his lower back to fuck into Harry just a _little_ harder. “You can do it, darling. Come on my cock. Show me how much you love being fucked like this.”

With a strangled cry, Harry tensed up. His hole spasmed around Draco’s cock, milking him even as he spilled his release across the sweat-soaked sheets beneath him. That was all it took; all Draco needed to drag him over the edge as well. He thrust hard, grinding himself as deep as he could into Harry’s ass, and shuddered through his own release.

When he finished, it took every bit of energy he had left to pull out of Harry - slowly; he had no doubt that Harry’s ass would be sore after that - and collapse to the bed next to him. For his part, Harry seemed to sink into the mattress by degrees and Draco couldn't help pulling a face at the idea of sleeping in the sticky mess Harry had just let his weary body drop into. It took long minutes for either of them to regain their breath, and longer minutes for the trembling in their exhausted limbs to stop.

When Harry finally seemed to regain some level of cognizance, he groped under the strewn pillows for his wand and cast the cleaning charm from their first night together before flopping down on his back. Draco still hadn’t bothered to learn it, though it was certainly a useful thing. It cleaned not just them but the sheets beneath them, as the fabric under Draco’s back was no longer damp with sweat but crisp and cool. He sighed in contentment and turned towards Harry, curling himself around the other man with his head on Harry’s chest.

“Mmmm...” Harry pressed his lips to the top of Draco’s head, murmuring. “That was amazing. I know you prefer to bottom, but we have _got_ to do that again sometime. Like on my birthday, or Christmas. You know, special occasions and whatnot.”

Draco laughed, teasingly nipping at Harry’s pectoral muscle and making the other man yelp and startle beneath him. “You’re a menace.” He told Harry, though his tone was fond. “But I agree. We’ll definitely do that again at some point. I rather liked the sound of you begging.”

Harry hummed again, his arms tightening a little around Draco. “You say that like you haven’t made me beg when we’re doing it the other way.”

“No, it’s just...a different sort of begging is all.” Draco explained around a yawn. “I like them both, but this was rather special. Perhaps because it’s new, I don’t know. But I liked it.”

“I liked it, too.” Harry assured him. There was silence for a stretch and then, just as Draco was drifting off to sleep, he heard Harry whisper. “I love you.”

And though he was far too close to sleep for the words to pass his lips, Draco silently replied, _‘I love you, too.’_

~*~*~*~

Draco rubbed slow circles over his belly and surveyed the room with a critical eye. It was on the third floor, next to the room that Draco believed had once been the _master bedroom_ of the house. Draco had tackled that first, though he’d yet to show it to Harry. And Draco knew Harry didn’t go poking around in any room that Draco hadn’t told him was ready to be viewed, because one hormonal temper tantrum about Harry _ruining the surprise_ by looking too soon had been more than enough. But the large bedroom and ensuite bath were ready for him and Harry to move into - _together_ \- and the room next door was _nearly_ ready for the baby.

It had taken Draco a while to decide on this - to decide he wanted to completely share a space with Harry - but once he had, it had taken him almost no time at all to settle on a room and whip it into shape. The nursery had taken a _bit_ more time, but he imagined that was normal. It was done in cream and mint green, because the colors complimented both his coloring and Harry’s, and Zach’s coloring was fairly similar to his, and Roger...well, hopefully the baby had Draco’s coloring, if it was Roger’s. Whatever the case, Draco thought the room was sweet and soothing and terribly lovely. It was full of baby things - some gifted to them during the baby shower and some of which Draco had bought on his own - and it was practically perfect in every way. In truth, Draco couldn't wait to bring the baby home to this room. To this _house._ To _Harry._

“You’re getting all teary-eyed again.” Narcissa murmured, handing him a handkerchief and ushering him to sit in the rocking chair. It was black walnut, and an antique, though the mint-and-cream striped cushion was new. It had been in Draco’s nursery when he was a child, and in his mother’s nursery before that, and he’d cried when Narcissa had brought it to him.

“I love him.” Draco whispered, a little afraid of saying it aloud. As though the words might shatter something in the air around him, if he weren’t cautious enough. As though they might shatter _him._

“Well, you’re supposed to, aren’t you?” Narcissa laughed, rolling her eyes. “He’s your child, darling. It’s perfectly natural to love him.”

“No, no...” Draco said, his face flushing as he averted his eyes. “I don’t mean the baby, though of course I love the baby as well. I meant...that is, I _mean_ to say that I love...I...”

“Ohhh...” Narcissa stuttered out another laugh, before giving her son an affectionate look. “Darling boy, you’re allowed to love _him_ as well. I take it you’ve not told him?” Draco shook his head and Narcissa _tsked_ softly while carding a slim hand through his hair. “Silly little nit, aren’t you? Doesn’t that young man tell you all the time how he loves you? Did he not let you decorate this enormous house however you liked, and give you all but unlimited funds to do so? Has he not offered you a life by his side, chosen and golden as it is, even if the child you carry is _not_ of his blood? Does he not worship the very ground you walk on, darling? _Tell him.”_

“I will.” Draco promised, letting his eyes close as he savored his mother’s gentle touch. “I will, just...not yet. I‘m not ready to tell him yet.”

“When?”

“After.” Draco murmured, and knew that Narcissa would know what he meant. When he knew if the child was Harry’s or not, and he could be _certain_ that Harry would stay with him...only _then_ would Draco tell him that he loved him. Because if the baby wasn’t Harry’s and Harry left him, Draco would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.

Narcissa sighed and _tsked_ again. “He won’t leave you, darling. Some part of you knows that. But if this is how you must protect your heart, I won’t naysay it. No matter how foolish I think you’re being.”

Draco hummed sleepily. His body was heavy and exhausted, and his mother’s soothing touches and soft voice were lulling him into sleep. The slight rocking of the chair he was sitting on was helping that along as well. As he drifted off, he felt Narcissa press a kiss to his forehead and whisper. “Heaven knows I love you dearly, darling, but I do wish you didn’t always make things so hard on yourself.”

~*~*~*~

Draco was unashamed to admit that he cried when they placed his son in his arms. The infant had the barest hint of dandelion fluff hair on the top of his head, as white as anything. His blue-grey eyes were unfocused and Draco wondered what color they would turn when the _newborn color_ faded from them. The baby was small but a solid weight in his arms and Draco’s heart _ached_ with love for him. His mother left the room to go and fetch the other fathers, all of whom had been barred from the delivery. Draco was grateful his mother had insisted on that, because he had been an undignified mess and the idea of anyone but her seeing him like that was horrifying. He was glad she knew him well enough to have forewarned him.

As he held his son, still misty-eyed, he murmured. “Hello, little love. You’re finally here, darling. And you are so, _so_ loved. You are infinitely precious, and I promise that you will never doubt it. Sweet boy; darling boy. Papa loves you _so_ much.”

The door to his room opened and Draco’s head came up. He beamed at the men entering the room, looking nervous and uncertain and hopeful. “Hey...” Harry murmured, crossing to Draco’s side immediately. He leaned in to press his lips to Draco’s forehead, then asked. “How are you?”

“Tired.” Draco admitted with a quiet laugh. “Exhausted, really. But happy. Happier than I thought I could be, honestly. He’s perfect.”

Harry looked down at the baby even as Roger and Zach moved closer. “He is.” Harry agreed, his whole face soft and open and full of love as he looked at the baby. “Can I...?”

Draco nodded and let Harry take the baby from his arms. Harry cooed at him, bouncing and swaying slightly when the baby began to fuss. “Shhh, shhh...hey, baby. It’s alright, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you. Shhh, shhh...”

“Antares.” Draco offered, nodding when all three men looked over at him. “His name is Antares Orion.”

“Malfoy?” Zach asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Draco shook his head. “Actually, no. I left his surname blank for the moment. Once paternity is established, the father and I can discuss how we’re going to do this. I just...didn’t feel comfortable deciding on my own.”

Roger cleared his throat, then asked. “Can...can _I_ hold him? Just for a moment...”

Draco nodded and Harry immediately handed Antares to Roger, helping him figure out where to put his hands. “It gets easier.” Harry said with a laugh. “Between Teddy and Bill’s kids, I’ve gotten plenty good at it, but it definitely took some time.”

Roger held Antares a little stiffly, fear written across his face. “Merlin but he’s small, isn’t he? He’s hardly any bigger than a Quaffle. What if I drop him?”

“I don’t advise it.” Draco said dryly, earning a snort from Harry and outright laughter from Zach. Roger just shot Draco a terrified look, so Draco added softly. “I doubt you’d be a professional Quidditch player if you made it a habit of dropping things. It’ll be fine.”

“All the same...” Roger said, passing the baby to Zach, who was holding his hands out eagerly. “He’s beautiful Draco, but I don’t think I’m quite cut out for raising a child. Not yet, anyway. Maybe someday.”

Zach made some soft clicking sounds at the baby, then turned to grin at Draco. “I love it. I honestly can’t get enough of Inias. But I don’t know that two at once wouldn’t be too much for me. Fair warning, you and Potter won’t be getting much sleep anymore.”

“Do you mind?” Harry asked lowly, reaching for Antares again. Zach obligingly handed him over. “Thanks. I just can’t believe he’s really _here,_ you know? That I can actually hold him.”

“Understandable.” Zach watched Harry twist and sway with the baby for a moment, then said. “I know you said it doesn’t matter to you, but...I don’t think he’s mine. I can’t say why except, holding him and looking at him, he just doesn’t _feel_ like mine.”

Draco watched the way Harry held Antares - the way he looked down at him - and he thought of the hesitation and uncertainty in Roger. Then he thought about Zach’s words; his certainty that Antares wasn’t his. And with every part of himself - with every fiber of his being - Draco hoped Harry was the father. In that moment, he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything else. Because if Harry was Antares’ father, then the end of the story was simple and happy and _perfect._ If Harry was the father, then Draco _knew_ things would work out.

If he _wasn’t..._

Well, Draco had _never_ had the best luck. Especially not when it came to things that made him happy.

~*~*~*~

Before Draco was sent home from the hospital, Healer Jameson came and swabbed the inside of Antares’ cheek, and the inside of each of the potential fathers’ cheeks. He promised they’d owl the results to Draco as soon as they were done. Three days at the most, they were told. Draco just nodded and held onto the hope that the baby was Harry’s. The funny thing was, Draco had a feeling that all three of the other men were hoping the same thing. Perhaps their combined wishing would make it so; would push fate in their favor. _Perhaps._

~*~*~*~

When the owl came, Draco refused to open it until Zach and Roger and Harry were _all_ present. This wasn’t something to be done in stages, or by degrees. Like telling them about the baby in the first place, this needed to be done all at once. And given Harry and Roger’s respective schedules - and the fact that Zach had a new baby at home himself - Draco and Antares had been home for five days before they were able to get everyone in one place and get the answer they’d all been waiting for.

When the moment came, Draco found himself unable to open it. He held the scroll, sealed with the official seal of the Ministry of Magic, and told himself that everything was going to be fine. He just needed to lift the wax seal, unroll the scroll, and read the results. Then he would know - they would _all_ know - and life would go on. Harry loved Draco, and he loved Antares, and he wasn’t going to leave no matter _what_ the results. So it didn’t matter what they said, which meant he should just _read them_ already.

Finally, after several moments, Zach placed a gentle hand on Draco’s shoulder and offered softly. “I’ll read it.”

Swallowing hard, Draco handed him the scroll. The little wax seal was lifted, the parchment was stretched out, and Zach’s eyes scanned it as he read out loud. “To Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy, we in the Department of Inheritance at the Ministry of Magic, blah blah blah...bunch of official, legal crap...det-det-det...ah! The results regarding the paternity of your firstborn son, Antares Orion, are as follows...”

Zach glanced over at Draco, then dropped his eyes to the parchment and read. “In the matter of Zacharias Smith, we have found that he is conclusively not the father.”

“Well.” Draco stuttered out a laugh and thought to himself, _‘Harry is the father. He must be.’_

Zach cleared his throat and continued. “In the matter of Roger Davies, we have found that he is conclusively not the father.”

Draco felt tears well up in his eyes, because _oh._ His heart thudded loudly in his ears, and he heard Harry’s shaky exhale beside him, and he didn’t think he’d ever been happier or more relieved. Roger was grinning at him from across the coffee table. “Well, that’s the best possible scenario then, isn’t it? Harry being the father. Don’t think any of us could have asked for more, really. Congratulations, to both of you.”

“Draco...” Zach’s voice was hoarse, and Draco looked up at him, the smile on his lips wavering when he saw how solemn his friend looked.

“What?” Draco asked, because he couldn't imagine what would have put that look there. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“In the matter of Harry Potter...” Zach read. “We have found that he is conclusively _not_ the father.”

For a long moment, there was only silence. Draco felt like all of the air in the room had been Vanished; as though they were all existing, just for a few moments, in a vacuum. Then Harry gagged and ran from the room, one hand pressed to his stomach and the other covering his mouth. Mere moments after, Draco was snatching the parchment from Zach’s hands, eyes scanning it furiously.

“That’s impossible.” He snarled, eyes tracking over the words Zach had read aloud. “It has to be _one_ of you! I’m not the bloody virgin mother, after all. How...it’s not...” The words blurred in front of Draco as tears spilled over and he was shaking far too hard to keep the parchment steady enough to read anyway, but he’d seen the damning words already. Weakly, he managed. “I don’t understand.”

Roger’s voice - low and harsh with anger - drew Draco’s attention even as Harry staggered back into the room, still pale and shaking and looking a bit green. “I think _I_ understand perfectly. Who else was it then, Malfoy?” And that made Draco flinch; the use of his surname, spit out as though it tasted foul. “Some nobody? A married man? Not someone you could tout about society and retain sympathy, obviously. Just picked the best three of us - all with good names and money and prestige - and hoped to Merlin it was one of us? I hope whoever it is laughs in your face when you finally tell them. You’re nothing but a greedy, social-climbing, Death Eater _slut.”_

It took Draco three steps to reach Roger’s side. It took him less than three seconds to swing his hand around and slap the older man across the face. His palm stung and he hoped like hell that Roger’s face hurt twice as much. “Get out.” He hissed, glaring at him. “I never want to see you again.”

“Gladly.” Roger snapped, before turning on his heel and vanishing with a _pop._

Draco wrapped his arms around himself and sank down onto the couch, shaking. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Because Roger was wrong; there had been _no one_ else in the week before or after the ten day time period when he’d been with the three of them. There had been no one else in the time frame necessary for Antares’ conception.

He heard parchment rustling and looked up to see Harry reading it. Draco opened his mouth, ready to defend himself - to _swear_ that there had been no one else - when the sound of Antares’ crying started up. Draco pushed to his feet, still shaking, and muttered. “Excuse me. I-i’ll be back in a minute.”

~*~*~*~

“I don’t think he’s lying.” Zach said, watching Harry’s face as he read the parchment. “If he says it was only the three of us, it’s because he honestly believes it was only the three of us. And fuck Davies for implying Draco left off mentioning someone because they were _unsuitable._ If Draco shagged them, they’d have to have been suitable. It’s not like he has questionable taste, after all.”

“He let _you_ fuck him.” Harry muttered, though there was no real heat to his words. He sighed, then asked. “Do you think they botched the test somehow?”

“Don’t rightly know how they _could_ have, honestly.” Zach shrugged, uncomfortable but feeling the need to voice his own theory. “I’d imagine it’s far more likely that Draco was out drinking and picked up someone or got picked up _by_ someone and then, he...well, he never really stays the night. And if he were drunk enough to forget...or, of course, there are illegal potions that do that sort of thing to a person. Make them forget. So it’s _possible...”_

_“Stop.”_

Zach fell silent for a moment, then said softly. “I don’t want to think about the possibility either, you know. He’s been my friend for nearly all of our lives. I hate the idea that someone might have done that to him. But I think, given the circumstances, it’s something we need to consider.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry declared, shaking his head at Zach. “Antares is mine. _Draco_ is mine. None of the rest of it matters.”

“Do you mean that?”

Harry whipped around to find Draco standing in the doorway, cradling Antares to his chest. He nodded slowly. “Of course I do. I don’t _care_ who fathered him. All that matters to me is that he’s _yours._ He’s yours, and I love you so _of course_ I love him, too. How could I not?”

Draco sniffled wetly, then managed a tearful smile. “I love you, too.”

Zach cleared his throat. “Well, I do believe that’s my cue to leave.” He crossed to Draco and brushed his lips over the blonde’s cheek. “Do let me know if you need anything, Draco. Anything at all.”

Draco murmured a thank you, then Zach was gone with a _pop._ And Harry crossed the room as well, pulling Draco into his arms. Antares wound up between their chests, both men taking care not to crush the sleeping infant. Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s temple and murmured. “It’s going to be alright. Whatever happened...whoever he came from...it’s going to be alright. Because he’s _ours _now, and nothing else matters.”__

__Draco tipped his head forward to rest on Harry’s shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling relief wash over him. He didn’t know what had happened with the test, but Harry was right. Whatever had happened - whoever had fathered Antares - it didn’t matter. However it had occurred - and despite the way Draco felt a bit sick inside over the possibility that he had slept with someone and couldn't recall it - he had Antares now. He had _Harry_ now. More than that, _they_ had Harry. Because Harry loved them, and they were going to be a family, and there was nothing more that Draco needed or wanted than that._ _

__The rest of the world could go hang._ _

__

~*~*~*~

Harry was hunched over the toilet for the fifth time in the week since the paternity test debacle, and Draco was starting to get worried. He wondered if it was stress; the combination of his high workload as an auror and having a new baby at home. Not that Draco was relying on him much, because he wasn’t. And not for any malicious or cruel reason, but simply because Harry _did_ work long hours and he had a dangerous job that required he get the necessary amount of sleep to be able to function properly while on the job. Also, a little because Draco had found himself to be a _touch_ greedy when it came to Antares.

He was loathe to let anyone else hold the infant for more than a few moments, and the sound of Antares crying made everything inside Draco _ache_ to soothe and nurture and comfort. Letting someone else take over that was nearly impossible for him. He found himself holding Antares for hours, the baby in nothing but a diaper and Draco’s own shirt discarded, skin-to-skin while they rocked in the nursery. It didn’t matter that Antares was soundly asleep and could easily be put down; it didn’t matter that Draco’s own eyes couldn't stay open and he often drifted off only to wake up with a sore neck and an aching back. Nothing mattered but feeling his son against him, the scent of powder and _baby_ enveloping him and the sound of Antares’ sleepy breaths the most peace-inducing sound in all of creation. 

Just at the moment, Draco was standing in the doorway to the master bathroom, the bedroom he and Harry shared behind him and his lover a sweaty, miserable heap on the floor in front of him. Harry was pressing his face against the cool tile floor, whimpering as he waited to see if his stomach was _finally_ going to settle this time or if he’d have to haul himself to his knees in another minute or two to vomit again. Antares was cradled against Draco’s chest, making fussy little sounds and mouthing wetly at Draco’s shoulder with sloppy little sucks that let him know his son was _hungry._ But he wasn’t crying yet and Draco’s current concern for Harry’s well-being was outweighing Antares’ minimal demands for food. That would change the moment Antares began to cry, of course, but he hoped he could convince Harry to see to his own health _before_ that happened.

“You need to go see a Healer.” Draco’s voice was soft, and gentle, and as undemanding as he could make it because Harry never responded well to orders. “You can’t go on like this, darling.”

“I’m _fine.”_ Harry rasped, his throat clearly ravaged by the four rounds of heaving he’d gone through in the last half an hour, two of which had yielded nothing but bile and acid. “It’s just a stomach bug. It’ll pass eventually.”

Draco sighed, then asked with a hint of bite. “And if it passes to me? Or, Merlin forbid it, to _Antares?_ He’s too little to withstand losing nutrients that way, Harry. I need you to take care of yourself, for _our_ sakes if not your own.” Antares’ fussing took a louder turn, and Draco sighed again knowing he couldn't put off fetching a bottle any longer. “Go and see a Healer, Harry...or go crash with Ron and ‘Mione until you’re well again. It’s your choice.”

Without another word, Draco turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen. Harry was a grown man and would do what he wished, regardless. Draco had to worry about Antares. And the first order of business was a bottle.

~*~*~*~

Draco was rocking Antares and reading him one of _Beedle the Bard’s_ stories when Harry came into the nursery that night; he’d apparently gotten his stomach under control and gone in to work, if his uniform was anything to go by. Draco had suspected as much when he hadn't seen Harry again all day, but it still vexed him greatly.

So Draco noted his presence, but continued the story in the same soft, even cadence he’d been reading the whole thing in. It had always been his favorite, after all, and he had nothing to say to Harry just yet. _“That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own.”_

Harry made a soft noise from the doorway, but Draco ignored him and continued reading, partly because he was almost done and partly because he was annoyed that Harry had gone to work - and then come home again - when he was so obviously unwell. _“Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared at once before him._

 _“Yet she was silent and cold, separated from him as though by a veil.”_ Draco had always thought the second brother’s fate was the saddest; that he should lose his love and then lose his life to his grief for her seemed the gravest of injustices to him. _“Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own.”_

Draco finished the tale softly, hyper aware of Harry as the auror crossed the room to his side at last, silent and somber in a way Harry rarely ever was. _“But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.”_

“Which would you choose?” Harry asked quietly, and the intensity in his gaze was more than a bit unnerving. It seemed far too _much_ for a question about a children’s story.

But Draco answered anyway even as he stood and crossed the nursery to lay Antares in his crib. “I’d take the cloak, of course. One cannot defeat Death, not with any wand, and it would be foolish to try. And no one can bring someone back from the dead, not truly. Not even with the stone, which the story states merely conjures a shadow of the person designed to lure the stone’s owner to their own demise.”

Draco smoothed his fingers over his son’s hair, which had a tendency to stick straight up, then turned to look at Harry again. “The cloak, however, allows the owner to evade Death. Not forever, because no one can do so _forever,_ but for long enough to have a full life. And then it can be passed on, to allow one’s child the same luxury. It’s obviously the wisest choice to make.”

“Obviously.” Harry murmured, something strange scrawled across his face.

Unnerved by it, Draco turned and left the nursery without another word. He hadn’t gone far - no more than a few steps into the hallway - when he heard Harry following. He stopped with a huff and turned to raise an eyebrow at his lover. “Well? Did you see a Healer or are you here to get clothes to take to Ron’s?”

“I saw a Healer before I went into work late. Which is why I wasn’t home for dinner, as going in late meant _staying_ late as well.”

Draco blinked, because he honestly hadn't expected that. It made him feel warm inside and his face smoothed out into a small smile. “Well, then. Are you feeling better? All fixed up?”

“Not exactly.” Harry admitted, and now there was nervousness and uncertainty in every line of his body and the way his eyes wouldn’t quite meet Draco’s. “I’m not contagious or anything though, and the, er...the throwing up will stop on its own. Eventually. A few more weeks at the most, unless I’m _really_ unlucky.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, Draco asked. “What’s wrong with you? I’d imagine the Healer had some sort of a name for it.”

“She did.” Harry agreed, still uncertain and ill at ease. “I believe the word she used was _pregnant.”_

Draco blinked, then felt something hot and horrible rise in his chest. “That’s not funny.” He bit the words out, fingers clenching into fists at his sides.

Harry took a wary step back, but said softly. “I don’t recall laughing. I’m pregnant, Draco. A bit past the two month mark, she said, though she recommended having an antenatal Healer confirm. She’s right, though. Pretty easy to be sure, considering.”

“Considering _what,_ precisely?” Draco snarled, breath coming in heaving pants as the world seemed to lurch sickeningly around him, spinning wildly off its axis. And then, the words he hadn't wanted to say - hadn't even wanted to _think_ \- spilled out, dripping off his tongue with vitriol because it was that or _pain_ and Draco had no intention of letting _that_ show.

“Who’s is it?”

Harry stared at him, green eyes wide and unblinking behind his glasses, and Draco blinked as fast as he could to stay the tears burning the backs of his own eyes. If he let them start falling - if he gave into the crashing waves of _agony_ inside of him - he knew he’d never be able to stop crying. That the pain would consume him. 

Then Harry’s face shifted into angry disbelief and he snapped. “What the hell do you mean, _who’s is it?_ It’s _yours,_ you bloody tosser! Who the hell else’s would it be? I’ve not shagged anyone else in more than a year and it’s been closer to _three_ since anyone else has shagged _me._ As to _considering what,_ I only meant that it’s not like you top often so it’s pretty reasonable to assume that the _one time_ you did is when I conceived.”

But Draco was having none of it; couldn't bear to let hope grow where it couldn't possibly be. “It _can’t_ be mine, Harry, because Antares isn’t _yours._ And there’s never been a case of a wizard being able to conceive with more than one person. _Never.”_

Harry considered that for a moment, then asked. “You’re certain you were only with me, Smith, and Davies during that time period, right?” Draco nodded, because he _was,_ no matter what the paternity tests had said. “Well, _I’m_ certain I’ve only been with you. So they must’ve botched the test, is all. Antares must be mine after all.”

Draco swallowed hard. “I want another test.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. If it’ll make you feel better, then okay. I’ve got no objections. And if you need it, Draco, then when the baby is born we can test paternity against you. But I’m telling you, it’s yours. And if that means Antares must be mine, that’s proof enough for me.”

“I believe you.” Draco promised, moving closer to Harry now that the throbbing ache in his chest had died down, replaced by a glowing sort of warmth and happiness. “I _do_ believe you, Harry. But I need to understand how this happened. I need to know who bollocksed the test up, and how. Can you understand that?”

Harry nodded, leaning in to rest his forehead against Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s arms slid around his waist, pulling the auror into him. “I get it.” He said, voice slightly muffled by Draco’s chest. “But, about the baby...”

Draco huffed in amusement, turning his head to press a kiss to the soft hair above Harry’s ear. “I’m thrilled. How could I not be, darling? Though it’s going to be exhausting having two little ones so close in age, I can’t be anything but happy. I’d resigned myself to only having Antares. Another child is a gift; a blessing.”

After a moment, he added. “Though you are _not_ shagging me again without a contraceptive spell. Two is plenty for the moment. A third baby would surely be overkill.” He paused, then added cheekily. “I also refuse to outdo the bloody _Weasleys_ when it comes to conception rates, thank you very much.”

Harry laughed and Draco counted it a win as he tightened his arms around the other man. He didn’t know how this had happened, but he’d meant it when he said it was a gift. A _confusing_ gift, but one nonetheless.

~*~*~*~

Draco and Harry walked into the Department of Inheritance at the Ministry, side-by-side. It would have been hand-in-hand, but Draco was holding Antares and Harry was laden with a monstrous diaper bag - because magic only went so far and babies needed many things and Draco refused to do without _anything_ for even a few short hours - so side-by-side had to suffice. Draco marched straight up to the counter and glared at the witch behind it until she noticed him. Which, given how loudly he had stomped across the polished tile floor of the waiting area, really didn’t take her long.

As soon as she saw him, she sighed in a put-upon way and spoke. “Mr. Malfoy. As I have informed Mrs. Granger-Weasley on _numerous_ occasions, there is nothing I can do to assist you in regaining access to your family’s money until such as a time as the Wizengamot rules on the matter and, even then, _only_ if they should find in your favor.”

Harry appeared behind Draco even as Draco bit out. “That is _not_ why we’re here. I’m here to take umbrage with the fact that you people have managed to bollocks up a paternity test.”

At that, the woman scoffed. “Nonsense. I do sympathize over the fact that your indiscretions have led to such an unfortunate circumstance, Mr. Malfoy, but I can assure you that none of the three men St. Mungos took samples from are a biological match for your son. That you failed to produce the _actual_ father is hardly our department’s fault.”

“How about the fact that Harry is pregnant with my child?” Draco snarked right back, because he didn’t take kindly to her attitude. “Given that fact, he _must_ be Antares’ father and yet we were forced to spend an entire week utterly devastated and stressed and confused because your office declared he _wasn’t._ We were placed under unnecessary duress because _someone_ in this office cannot do their bloody job correctly, and I demand to know _who.”_

She shot Harry a stunned look and the auror smiled sharply before saying. “And I’d advise you against suggesting the possibility that someone _else_ fathered the baby inside me, ma’am. I’ve _only_ been with Draco and I won’t take the suggestion of otherwise very well at all.”

The woman’s eyes were wide as she frantically shook her head. “I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Potter! Of course this is all highly alarming, as I cannot imagine how the test was done incorrectly, but we’ll do a retest immediately. With a rush on it, obviously, in light of the circumstances.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me for finding it hard to believe you wouldn’t dare, considering you just _dared_ as much with my lover. He told you people that one of us three was the father and demanded to know how the test was screwed up and you all but called him a liar to his face. Insisting you cannot _possibly_ have made a mistake, as though you being a human being capable of error is less likely than Draco lying about who he’d been with. And I don’t like that insinuation at all.”

The woman flushed and stammered for a minute before Draco cut her off. “I don’t care about your deplorable people skills or your smug superiority. I simply want to know who botched the test so I can be assured that appropriate action is taken to ensure it _never_ happens again.”

She nodded and Draco gestured to the chairs. “I’ll just wait over here while you get whatever you need from Harry to redo the test. Let me know if you need another sample from Antares.”

~*~*~*~

Draco did _not_ enjoy being dragged back into the Department of Inheritance. But the office had insisted, so two days after their _last_ visit they found themselves there _again._

This time, a Healer from St. Mungos was present.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, as they were ushered through a security door and then into a small office. “Why did we need to come back in?”

The Healer - a woman who’s robes read _Healer Nova_ on them - and a stuffy looking wizard - _Reginald Bandy_ if the name plaque on the desk was to be believed - exchanged a tense look. It was Healer Nova who spoke. “I’m a specialist from St. Mungos, Mr. Potter. I get called in when things get...well, _complicated._ I understand you’re pregnant with Mr. Malfoy’s child, but two paternity tests for Mr. Malfoy’s son have come back negative regarding you as the other father. This is _highly_ unusual.”

Draco stiffened in the chair beside Harry, his arms tightening just a little around Antares. “The second one said the same thing? How is that possible?”

“That’s what we’re attempting to determine.” Healer Nova explained, smiling slightly. “I’d like to take a series of samples - from both Antares _and_ Mr. Potter. At least five from each of you, from different parts of the body. And one from you as well, Mr. Malfoy, for comparison’s sake.”

“Okay...?” Draco shared a confused look with Harry before turning back to her. “I’m sorry, but...can I ask _why?_ I don’t understand what this is going to accomplish.”

Reginald cleared his throat. “I’d rather not get into Healer Nova’s theories until we have some conclusive evidence, one way or the other. Our department is under enough fire as it is, even _without_ this current issue, thanks to your campaign with Mrs. Granger-Weasley regarding certain laws.”

Draco huffed and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, it’s not a _personal attack_ on your department. We’re not trying to do away with your offices or anything. There are just issues with some of the older, outdated laws. We’re simply attempting to see them revised.”

“Be that as it may.” Reginald gestured towards Healer Nova. “I’d like to resolve this as quickly as possible, as I’d hate for anyone to claim we deliberately botched your test due to the complaints you have regarding current inheritance laws and your family’s fortune.”

 _Ah._ Draco inclined his head. “I would never dream of accusing you of such a thing. It was never my intention to imply that this had been done on purpose. I am simply at a loss as to how such an error occurred in the first place and I would hate for it to happen to anyone else.”

Reginald relaxed back into his chair and smiled at Draco. “Well then. We’ll do our best to get things straightened out for you, of course. Healer Nova will take the samples she requires today and you’ll have results in a week’s time at the most.”

Harry shrugged. “Sure. What do you need from me?”

“A number of things including hair, saliva, and blood.” Healer Nova explained, then she reached behind her and picked up a small glass jar with a twist-on lid and held it out, added with a cheeky grin. “And, if it’s not _too_ much trouble, semen.”

Harry blushed and Draco snickered, turning his face into Antares’ blanket where the baby rested against his shoulder. Harry glared at him and Draco mimed a kiss at him in retaliation. Healer Nova was clearly trying not to laugh as well. “Oh, just go and get it done, Harry.” Draco finally told his sulking lover when he’d regained a small measure of composure. Then, with a wink, he added. “It won’t take you more than a few minutes, anyway, so what’s the fuss about?”

“You’re _horrid.”_ Harry hissed at him, standing up in a flurry of auror robes and snatching the jar from Healer Nova’s hands. He turned to glare at Reginald and bit out from between clenched teeth. “Bathroom?”

“Ah, yes. Just down the hall to the left, second door. Can’t miss it.”

Harry had barely closed the door behind himself before all three of them burst into laughter. And honestly, regardless of the insanity his life had become, Draco felt surprisingly light.

~*~*~*~

Draco was getting rather sick of being in the Department of Inheritance. He was intensely grateful that Hermione had been the one doing all of the forays to the offices for her pitch to the Wizengamot about which laws ought to be overhauled and how. As it was, this was his third visit in ten days and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the snide witch from his first visit, who Hermione had announced was _Mildred Anthistle._ Though Healer Nova had been nice enough, and Reginald Brand had at least seemed to understand enough of bureaucracy to _not_ antagonize or attack Draco. It still grated on Draco’s nerves and he found himself hoping against hope that Mildred had been the one to screw up the test just so he could see her fired. Or, at the very least, severely reprimanded.

That little fantasy carried Draco through the the Atrium, into the lifts, and to the correct floor. Then, he thanked the universe when he walked in and Mildred immediately called for Reginald. And Reginald, for his part, wasted absolutely no time in ushering Draco and Antares into his office.

“Where is Mr. Potter?” Healer Nova asked the second Draco stepped inside. “I thought he’d be here.”

“He will be.” Draco assured her, sinking gratefully into a chair because Antares was small but when combined with the weight of the diaper bag his presence demanded, it was _exhaustive_ to go about with him without another adult to assist. Draco had debated bringing the pram, but had decided against it because getting _into_ the Ministry was far too much of a hassle as it was; adding the pram was just asking for trouble. “I half expected him to beat me here as he’s already in the building, but I’d imagine he just got hung up in the office. He should be along shortly.”

It was actually closer to twenty minutes before Harry finally came in, looking rather sulky.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, immediately concerned.

“Robards put me on desk duty.” Harry snarled, arms folded over his chest as he glared at the tips of his auror-issue dragonhide boots. “Said he can’t risk having _the pregnant savior_ out in the line of duty. Never mind that when my partner, Ashton, was pregnant two years back she wasn’t confined to a desk until she hit her third trimester. He’s made it clear my choices are to ride a desk or take a leave of absence until the baby is born. It’s ridiculous.”

And Draco, understanding how important Harry’s job was to him, held out Antares. Harry stared for a few seconds, then softened and took the infant, snuggling him close his chest with a sigh. “Yeah, okay. The baby will be worth all of the fuss and hassle. I’m still not happy about it, though.”

“Nor should you be.” Draco agreed, reaching over to card his fingers through Harry’s unruly hair. “And if you’d like to sic ‘Mione on him for the unfair treatment, I will fully support you. But right now I need you to focus on this meeting about our children. Okay?”

Harry nodded and Draco turned to see Healer Nova staring at them with a soft smile on her face. “Well, I must say that while I myself have always favored the term _genetically compatible matches _over the far too poetic _soulmates,_ you two certainly do make a solid case for _destined lovers,_ don’t you?”__

__Harry was blushing and smiling shyly at Draco, but Draco had latched onto the main point behind what Healer Nova was saying. “He’s really Antares’ father? Then how did the test fail twice?”_ _

__Nova grinned wider, leaning back against the wide window sill behind her until she was very nearly sitting on it. “I admit to having been stumped at first myself. I even went so far as to consider the possibility that your child had been switched with another in the nursery by mistake, which is why I wanted to test you against him as well. I was wrong about that, thankfully, and the truth is _far_ more interesting. The short answer is, Harry’s body contains two entirely unique sets of DNA, one of which is a biological match for Antares’ and one of which is _not._ The first two tests used saliva, which is _not_ a part of his body that contains the matching DNA, hence the inaccurate results.”_ _

__Draco stared at her in shock for so long that Harry wound up being the one to ask the obvious question. “How do I have two sets of DNA?”_ _

___“That,_ Mr. Potter, is the interesting part. You’re what the muggle world calls a _chimera._ We don’t really have a word for it, as it’s not something that comes up often in our world. Not because it happens less often, but simply because there are very few instances wherein we use DNA or genetic testing as compared to muggles.”_ _

__Nova looked like she was ready to start bouncing she was so excited. “A chimera is created when one half of a set of twins _absorbs_ the other while still in the womb, usually very early in the pregnancy. So early, in fact, that most people never know they were carrying twins to start with. The DNA of the absorbed twin forms certain parts of the body while the DNA of the absorbing twin - you, in this instance - forms other parts. The sample of your semen is what we finally matched to Antares.”_ _

__“Perhaps it would be best if all such tests were done using semen in the future.” Draco said, because he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. Not yet, anyway. “In the interest of avoiding future such instances of confusion and inaccuracy. As the semen is what _actually_ creates the child, it would be the most accurate sample to use, correct?”_ _

__“Most definitely.” Nova agreed, inclining her head. “Though of course this isn’t something that happens often at all, it’s hardly a difficult matter to use semen instead of saliva as the default sample material.”_ _

__“Wait, when you say _absorbed...” _Harry sounded uneasy and it drew Nova’s attention as well as Draco’s.___ _

____In a gentle voice, she answered. “Muggle scientists and doctors refer to it as _in-utero cannibalism._ It usually occurs when one twin isn’t growing right and would likely die soon enough. Because the loss of one twin can - in some instances - result in a miscarriage of the other, the stronger twin does the only thing it can to protect itself. It draws the genetic material of the other twin into itself, thus eliminating the carrying body’s need to void it.”_ _ _ _

____For several long minutes, no one spoke. Then, in a voice that was tight and choked, Draco managed to rasp out. “I cannot believe you _ate_ my unborn soulmate. That’s fucked up, Harry.”_ _ _ _

____After only the briefest pause, Harry snorted and snarked right back. “How do you know that I wasn’t your soulmate all along and it’s my twin’s stupid DNA that’s fucking things up and making it seem like I’m not? He could _easily_ have wound up as my saliva, considering _I ate him.”__ _ _ _

____Draco laughed, loud and bright, deeply amused. “I suppose that’s fair.” He agreed, leaning over to press his lips to Harry’s. “You’re terribly strange, Harry Potter, but I love you dearly.”_ _ _ _

____“Even though I quite possibly ate your soulmate?”_ _ _ _

____Draco laughed again, his whole body shaking with mirth. As he wiped away tears of joy and relief from his eyes, he said fondly. “Even so, you nutter.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s handy, as I love you quite a lot, too.”_ _ _ _

____And though Draco knew that he and Harry would need to fill out some more paperwork for the Department of Inheritance, and while Draco knew Harry was still upset about work and there was the pressing concern of _another_ baby on the way and of course there was still the matter of Draco’s inability to access the Malfoy money to contend with...he found himself feeling rather calm about everything. Harry was his, well and truly. They had Antares and another baby on the way. They were in love, of all things, as strange as that was._ _ _ _

____And while Draco had never believed the soulmate hype, as he looked over at Harry holding their son, knowing that another baby was resting inside Harry’s body, he couldn't help thinking that maybe - _just maybe_ \- the poets had gotten it right all along._ _ _ _

____Perhaps _soulmates_ was the right word after all._ _ _ _

______ _ _

~*~*~*~

Draco paused in the nursery’s doorway, watching as Harry paced back and forth with Antares. He wasn’t actually pacing far; a few steps one way then a few steps back the other, just in front of the crib while rocking and bouncing his body slightly. It was a sort of _jostle-sway-dip_ motion that Draco himself had become passing fair at during the few weeks since Antares’ birth. Harry, however, had it down pat and nothing seemed to soothe their son more than when his daddy did it. Draco’s eyes traced over the slim, lithe lines of Harry’s moving body and wondered what he would look like as the months passed; as their second child swelled his body. The idea was more enticing than he’d thought it would be when Harry had first told him about the baby.

After a few moments of watching, Draco realized Harry was talking to Antares and strained his ears to catch the softly spoken words.

“-never expected this. Being pregnant. But then, I guess I never expected _you,_ either. You look _so much_ like your Papa, did you know?” Harry’s cheek rubbed against the dandelion-fluff hair Antares had. “You do, baby. You’re going to be _so_ beautiful when you grow up, just like him. I can tell.”

Draco felt tears well in his eyes, at the tender awe and obvious love in Harry’s voice; in his words.

“This whole thing is such a mess.” Harry added, though his tone hadn't changed at all, making Draco marvel at how Harry seemed utterly unaffected by it all. Like having Draco and their children made the rest of it unimportant; a nuisance at worst and therefore not worth getting worked up over. “Apparently, baby boy, I am your _uncle_ from the waist up - or thereabouts - and your _father_ from the waist down. Or something.”

He chuckled softly and added. “I always knew pureblood family trees were fucked up, but I do believe this takes the cake on it all. But it’s okay, sweet boy, because Papa and I love you so much. More than anything. And nothing else matters.”

And Draco...well, he had to agree.

~*~*~*~

**_Epilogue_ **

Draco took in the guests milling about in the Manor’s gardens and felt a wave of contentedness wash over him. “I missed this place.” He admitted, letting Harry take some of his weight as he settled snugly against his husband’s side. “I didn’t realize how much until today, but...I did. It was _home_ for most of my life.”

Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s temple. “I’m sorry I threw a fit when you said you wanted the wedding here. I understand how important it is to you, though I didn’t at the time. I’m glad Hermione convinced me.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully, watching as Antares - who was _six_ now, a fact Draco couldn't seem to wrap his head around most days - and Inias Smith chased several toddling Weasley children around. Vega, who was five - _and a half_ as she so frequently reminded everyone - was playing dolls with Victoire and Dominique not far from her brother. The older girls had taken to her right away, probably because she looked so much like a doll herself with her sleek black hair and wide green eyes. Her pristine white flower girl dress only aided the doll-like appearance she projected.

It had taken them years to get here - to _finally_ get married - but Draco thought it was well worth the wait.

Suddenly, Pansy was at Draco’s side, eyes wide and frantic. “What?” He asked, feeling Harry snap to attention at his side as well, both of them instantly on high-alert. “What’s happened?”

“I’m sorry, Draco. We did the best we could, security-wise, but the damned wards...they just _accept_ him, you know how it is.” Pansy’s words were hushed but frantic. “Your mother and some of the elves have waylaid him in the entrance hall, but I don’t know how long she can keep him there.”

Draco and Harry exchanged a look, then Harry nodded. “Come on. Best see what he wants before he storms out here and makes some sort of scene.”

Draco glanced around and noted that most of the guests hadn't noticed this little _disruption_ at all and the few who _had_ noticed that something seemed to be amiss were the very closest of his and Harry’s friends. Blowing out a relieved breath for small favors, Draco agreed. “Alright, then. Best to get this over with.”

Draco and Harry followed Pansy into the Manor, their fingers tangled together in a silent show of support and solidarity. As they drew closer to the entrance hall, Draco could hear his mother’s voice cracking like a whip through the air, sharp and vicious. “You couldn't give him one day? After _everything_ you’ve done - everything he’s been through because of _you_ and _your choices,_ you couldn't let him have just _one day?”_

Just as Pansy entered the entrance hall ahead of them, Narcissa added coldly. “You are not half the man you somehow managed to raise, Lucius. Not even _half.”_

Before Draco could step out of the doorway, he spotted his father. Lucius looked... _distraught._ It gave Draco pause, because Lucius hadn't even looked that way when facing down the prospect of Azkaban in the wake of the Second Wizarding War. “Please, Cissy..” His voice was hoarse, as though he were trying to rein in some emotion or other. “Please, I won’t...I won’t interfere. I just...I just want to _see...”_ As though pleading his case, he gave his wife a beseeching look and took a cautious step closer to her, adding. “They don’t even have to know I’m here.”

“Bit late for that.” Draco said, finally stepping into the entrance hall and announcing his presence. Harry stepped through as well, a half-step behind him. When Draco stopped, a few feet from his parents, Harry stopped right beside him. Draco knew they made a striking pair in their matching white suits, dove-grey waistcoats the only thing breaking the intensity of all the white.

Lucius took a hasty step backwards, his expression pleading as he raised his hands, palm-out in a gesture so distinctly _non-threatening_ that it, too, gave Draco pause. “I didn’t come for a fight.” Lucius said weakly, taking another step back, towards the door. “I did not fight when your mother informed me the wedding would be here, and I took my leave for the preparations so as to stay out of your way. I just...I only wanted to see...”

“To see what?” Draco asked, and his own tone was non-combative. He was _so tired_ of fighting his father and he simply didn’t have the energy anymore. “To see if I’m happy? I _am,_ no thanks to you. To see if Harry went through with it? He did, because he _loves_ me. To see if maybe, just maybe, you were _wrong_ the whole time? Of course you were, Father. But we both know you’ll never admit it, and you’ll never apologize, so why come? What does this accomplish besides casting a pall on what is meant to be one of the happiest days of my life?”

Lucius’ mouth moved silently for a long moment, then he whispered. “I _was_ wrong. I realized it the moment your mother left to attend you during your son’s birth. And while I am a proud man - _too_ proud, I will admit that - I would have apologized repeatedly if I had thought, for even an instant, that you would have forgiven me. But you made your feelings clear on that. I let my pride, and my temper, and my arrogance get the best of me and you had no forgiveness in your heart for me. Not this time.”

Dropping his eyes, Lucius added. “I understand why, Draco. I do not blame you for my mistake, or the consequences of it. You swore you would never forgive me and I will not place the burden of my guilt on you by apologizing when it cannot be accepted.”

He looked back up and added softly. “I never meant for you to know I’d come today. I never intended to ruin your wedding day, Draco. I would not do that to you.”

Harry was squeezing his hand and Draco glanced over at him. Harry’s face was blank but when he met Draco’s eyes, the message in them was clear. This was Draco’s father, so it was Draco’s call what he wanted to do; how he wanted to handle it. Whatever Draco said - whatever he _decided_ \- Harry would support him and back him up. Draco looked at his mother and saw a softening of her expression; the barest lessening of her anger. And he knew that she wouldn’t press the fight any longer if Draco told her to let it go, just as he knew that she would stand by him if he told his father to piss off.

But before he could decide, Draco needed an _answer._ Not a side-step, or a platitude, or even the damned apology he thought he’d stopped waiting for years ago but apparently still desperately wanted to hear. “You said you came here to see. See _what?”_

Lucius opened his mouth, then seemed to go stiff as a board as he looked _behind_ Draco. Tears filled his eyes and he whispered hoarsely. “To see _them.”_

Draco’s heart dropped to his stomach as he whirled around to see Antares and Vega standing in the doorway, staring into the entrance hall with wide eyes. Antares was holding Vega’s hand and she was fidgeting a bit beside him, and Draco closed his eyes as he understood why they were inside. “Antares, take Vega back up the hallway and count three doors on _your_ side of the hallway.”

“Wait!” Lucius gasped out, staggering closer for three steps before Draco’s cold look stopped him. “Please...please, I just...I just want to see them. Just for a moment...”

Without taking his eyes off his father, Draco addressed his children. “Take your sister to the bathroom before she pees in her pretty dress, Antares. Then come back here.”

He heard the hurried footsteps that meant they’d obeyed and let himself sag into Harry’s side a little, his eyes still on Lucius. “Tell me why I should allow it.” He bit out. “Tell me why I should let you into their lives for even _one second_ after what you did when I was pregnant with Antares. Tell me what the hell gives you the _audacity_ to ask this of me, when you were willing to leave me destitute!”

Lucius flinched back as Draco’s voice rose steadily with each damning sentence.

The silence seemed to ring around them, oppressive in the wake of Draco’s words. Finally, Lucius spoke, his voice soft and even and very somber. “You shouldn’t. You’re right to be angry. What I did was deplorable. And I know I have no right to ask to see them. I cannot help that I _want to,_ though. I thought, if I slipped in just for a few moments...well, what would it have hurt? No one needed to know.”

“Why should I believe you?” The anger was gone from Draco’s voice again. He was just _so tired,_ and his voice reflected that weariness. “Why should I believe you have felt even an instant of regret over disowning me when you have never shown as much?”

“I restored your inheritance.”

Silence sat heavy in the air again, before Draco rasped. “You did _what?”_

Lucius looked away again. “After Antares was born - a month after, perhaps a little more - I restored your inheritance to you. There had been regular inquiries before that. Regular attempts to access the Malfoy accounts. I assumed it wouldn’t take you long to discover what I had done, especially as your legal battle to change the inheritance laws dragged on. But the inquires stopped, and I...I did not know how to approach you. To tell you what I had done. Or _un_ done, as the case was. I didn’t even know how to tell your mother.”

And Draco thought back to that time period, right after they’d found out that Harry was pregnant and that Antares was _his_ son. Utterly fed up with the Department of Inheritance - despite things having been finally sorted out with regards to paternity - Draco had ordered Hermione to stop inquiring about his inheritance. They’d gone the route of fighting the Wizengamot instead. It had never occurred to Draco that Lucius might have changed his mind at some point; that he might have restored Draco’s access to the Malfoy fortune. And thanks to Harry, Draco hadn't _needed_ the money, so trying had seemed pointless.

The sound of small footfalls drew Draco’s attention and he turned to give Harry a pleading look, desperate for his husband to understand; to _agree._ Harry’s face softened from its blank _Head Auror_ state and he nodded. “If it’s what you want, I support you. You know that.”

Draco took a deep breath, then turned to give his father a hard stare. “If you’re lying - and believe me, I _will_ be checking the dates on all of the paperwork filed - you’ll never see them again. If you’re lying, we’re _done._ And if you _ever_ do _anything_ to cause them harm, in any way, I will _destroy_ you.” Draco was the love of Harry Potter’s life; he had _more_ than the required clout to follow through on that threat.

And Lucius knew it. “I believe you.”

“Papa?” A small hand tugged on Draco’s pants leg and he smiled down at his children. Antares’ wide grey eyes were curious as he continued. “Who’s that man with Grandma?”

Draco took a steadying breath, then crouched down. He took Antares’ and Vega’s free hands - their other ones still clinging to each other - and said softly. “That’s my father. Your grandfather. Grandpa, if it’s easier to say. He wants to meet you both.”

Vega and Antares shared a look, then they both nodded. “Okay.” Vega said softly, which was so unlike her it was a bit unsettling. She was normally loud and brash and daring; unafraid of anything.

Still holding hands, his children drew away from him and crossed the entrance hall to stand in front of Lucius. They blinked up at him, looking remarkably like twins. In truth, Draco had been asked more times than he could count if they _were_ twins. Their seven-month age gap provided little physical evidence to show otherwise, and Draco was grateful that their respective birth months meant they would be a year apart at Hogwarts. It would prevent unnecessary confusion regarding their close births.

Lucius dropped to his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Hello.” He said softly, his voice a bit choked.

Vega reached out, small fingers touching one damp cheek. “You’re crying.”

Lucius nodded and Antares asked curiously. “Why? Are you sad? Or hurt?”

“No.” Lucius shook his head, a trembling smile curving his lips. Draco marveled at how much _older_ his father looked, since the last time he’d seen him. “I’m simply very happy to finally meet you. I have waited a very long time for this. Your whole lives, in fact.”

Vega’s head tipped to one side in a gesture that was so much like Harry that it tugged at Draco’s heart every time she did it. “How come you din’t see us ‘afore?” Antares had mostly shed the baby-lisp, but it clung to Vega’s tongue with a bit more tenacity. “Gran’ma sees us lots.”

Lucius hesitated, glancing over at Draco and Harry before turning back to the children and answering. “I wasn’t very nice to your papa the last time I saw him, before Antares was born. I said some very hurtful things and I didn’t know how to apologize for them. It has taken me a long time, but I’m trying to be a better person. For your papa, and for both of you.”

Vega nodded seriously. “Sayin’ sowwy is no fun. But if you hurt someone, you gots to say it. An’ you gots to be nicer after. Being nice is impor’ant.”

“Im _port_ ant.” Antares corrected, rolling his eyes a little. Vega stuck her tongue out at him and he sneered at her before saying. “If you’re gonna be a _baby...”_

“‘M’not a baby!” Vega stomped her foot, looking sullen. “You’re jus’ a big meanie!”

“You’re an arsekettle!” Antares spat back.

“Antares Orion!” Harry snapped, instantly furious. “Where did you learn that word?”

Antares’ cheeks flushed and he turned to stare guiltily at Harry. “I heard Teddy say it.”

Harry groaned, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “Of course you did. Well, I’ll be having words with him about his language around you, but in the meantime, that is _not_ a word you’re allowed to say.”

“Grow-up word?” Vega chirped.

“Yes, it’s a grown-up word.” Harry confirmed, still annoyed. “And as neither of you is a grown-up, I’d better not hear it come out of your mouths. Are we clear?” They both nodded and Harry gestured towards the hallway. “Go on back to the party, then. Papa and I will be along in a minute or two.”

“Yes, Daddy.” They chorused the words in perfect unison, then ran off without another word.

Lucius watched them go, looking heartbroken, and Draco felt something inside him thaw a bit. “Mother comes for tea on Wednesdays and Saturdays.” He said. “If you’d like to see them again, you can come with her.”

~*~*~*~

Draco curled into Harry’s warmth in the dark of their bed. “Are you angry with me?”

“No. Of course not.” Harry promised, pressing his lips to Draco’s temple. “I’m wary of him, given the past, but he’s your father. I understand wanting to forgive him.”

“Do you?” Draco murmured, a bit wonderingly. Harry’s capacity for love and empathy never ceased to amaze him, even after all their years together.

“During the war - right around the start of it, really - I learned some things. About my dad.” Harry admitted and Draco listened raptly because Harry rarely spoke about the war, or his parents. “They weren’t good things, and I was angry at the realization that he was...well, _human._ That he had flaws, and imperfections, and that he was even capable of abject cruelty at times. It _hurt,_ deeply. But despite never having known him, I wanted to forgive him. I _did_ forgive him, in the end. Because he was my dad and being angry with him hurt more than learning about all of the horrible things he had done in his youth. I forgave Sirius as well, for his part in those awful things, and he was as close to a dad as I ever knew.”

Draco nodded against Harry’s shoulder, then asked. “Do you think I’m foolish for letting him near our children?”

There was a pause then Harry shook his head, his chin rubbing against the top of Draco’s head, ruffling his hair. “I don’t, no. I think you’re one of the most loving people I’ve ever known, and I think you’re doing what you think is best for everyone involved.”

“But you think I’m wrong.”

Harry huffed softly. “I don’t, actually. I think Lucius is genuinely sorry for what he did. Those were real tears today, when he saw the kids. He screwed up, and not for the first time, but I’ve always believed he loves you. And I believe he loves them, too.”

Draco sighed, clinging just a bit tighter to Harry. “Thank you. I was worried I wasn’t thinking clearly because...”

“Because he’s your father?” Harry offered when Draco trailed off.

“No.” Draco whispered, bracing himself for Harry’s reaction to his next words. “Because of the hormones.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, then Draco found himself flat on his back with Harry above him, eyes wide and hopeful in the dim moonlight streaming across the bed. “You mean you’re...?”

Draco laughed, grinning up at his husband, and nodded even as he looped his arms around Harry’s neck. “About two and a half months along, yes. I didn’t want to say anything until after the wedding, because I didn’t want to pull focus.”

Harry leaned down and caught Draco’s lips in a fierce kiss. When he finally drew back, he panted. “I love you, Draco Malfoy. Always and forever.”

Draco’s grin widened and, as he pulled Harry down into another kiss, he murmured against his lips. “I love you, Harry Potter. You’re my soulmate.”

And he knew, with everything in him, that it was absolutely true.

**_~ The End ~_ **

**Author's Note:**

> So, thank you for reading this monstrous piece. And please, leave me some love in the comments - I always reply when the fest is over and I'm allowed to slap my name on the thing!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [livejournal](https://harrydracompreg.livejournal.com/313882.html). ♥  
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at harrydracompreg on livejournal.  
> The author will be revealed June 17th.


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